Hold On Me
by fennecfawkes
Summary: Eventual Harry/Draco. Seven years out of Hogwarts, Hermione organizes dancing lessons for all the rhythmless Ministry employees who attend those damn galas. Harry can't dance, and how fortunate that Draco can't, either. Not my characters, EWE, et cetera, et cetera.
1. An Idea

It had been Hermione's idea, initially, which didn't surprise Harry. She was the one with the ideas, and aside from the occasional misstep—SPEW, say—they were usually pretty good ones. And this one, it seems, is particularly beneficial for Harry, though he hates admitting it.

He and Ron and Hermione and a great many of their Hogwarts classmates began working at the Ministry soon after they left school. It's a generally satisfying experience for Harry, going on late night Auror raids with his best friend, listening and re-listening to Hermione's explanations of newly passed wizarding laws, and examining Luna's latest scars from whichever beast she and her department are attempting to regulate. Even the people he hadn't gotten on with well in school, people like Zacharias Smith and Pansy Parkinson and, unbelievably, Draco Malfoy have grown up well enough that greeting them in the hallways and making small talk feels absolutely fine.

There's one outstanding problem with being employed by the Ministry of Magic, though: the parties.

Kingsley Shackebolt is a man who loves parties.

Naturally, Harry enjoyed getting together with friends and having a few drinks and reminiscing about their younger years—not that any of them are _old _now, per se, with Harry having just turned 25. But Ministry parties are completely different from firewhisky shots and storytelling at Ron and Hermione's cottage. Ministry parties are all fanfare and champagne and speeches and dancing.

Oh, God, the dancing.

Harry first learned he was a horrible dancer at the Yule Ball, when he bruised poor Parvati Patil's feet over and over before ignoring her for most of the night. After that, he hadn't exactly sought out opportunities to dance; now, in his sixth year as an Auror, he's forced into one every couple months, whenever Kingsley finds an excuse to throw another Ministry gala, and according to Hermione, Harry's wallflower status is no longer endearing.

"Of course, it isn't just you," she says encouragingly as she nearly drags him into a room at the Ministry that Harry's fairly certain is used for experimental spellwork. Neville, who's dating Luna and thus required to attend the galas, waves at him weakly. "You and Neville and Seamus and the Patils and a few others—you could all use a bit of help."

"I notice you didn't put Ron on your list," Harry grumbles, shuffling over to where Neville's standing.

"No, he and I are going to teach the class, not attend it," she says, smiling a bit too proudly. It did drive Harry a bit mad, seeing the two of them waltz for the first time and being forced to acknowledge that both of them had more coordination on a dance floor than he did. Apparently quick reflexes and dueling skills only go so far.

"I was surprised at how many people responded to the idea, actually," says Hermione. "Luna's coming, right, Neville?"

He nods. "I'm sorry I can't be your partner, Harry."

"Can't say I'm not heartbroken, but I'll move on one day," says Harry. "Who else, then? You mentioned earlier that the Patils would be here. Anyone else I know?"

"Oh, just a few others from here and there." Hermione waves her hand dismissively and looks over Harry's shoulder at the door. "Hi, Susan! Glad you could make it."

"It's a good thing someone's glad," Harry says under his breath to Neville, who chuckles.

"It shouldn't be too bad, provided your partner isn't too terrible," he says. "Luna knows how to dance but she's doing this for my benefit."

"Wish I had someone doing that for me," says Harry, trying to sound carefree and failing miserably.

Neville claps him on the shoulder. "Sometime, it'll happen for you, I promise," he says. "Have you talked to Anthony lately?"

Harry shakes his head, trying not to cringe at the mention of his most recent ex's name. "I think he's still upset at me for being honest." Five more people drift into the room, and Harry glances around to make sure no one else from Anthony's department is around. Fortunately, so far, it's just Susan and Seamus and the Patils and...

"Wow, didn't realize he'd need to be here," Neville comments, looking at Draco. "You'd think he would've been dancing for years."

"Actually, I'm not shocked," says Harry. "We're often along the back wall together at parties. It's the one time we really talk. His and Hermione's department, the whole Magical Law bit, it's not as boring as you'd think."

"Maybe they're just both good at telling stories," Neville says, and Harry shrugs. He looks at Draco and raises his hand in a tentative way. Draco nods back swiftly; Harry thinks of it as just about enough, considering the nature of their relationship. They'd thanked each other for some things and apologized for others while they were still in school, and they're fine now, at least halfway comfortable with trading workplace anecdotes and talking about the weather. That's what Harry assumes may happen now—that is, before everyone else floods the room. Harry recognizes a pair of Obliviators, both Hogwarts students who were fourth years when Harry was finishing up there, and Terry Boot and Dennis Creevey, two of the Minister's many undersecretaries. Harry does a count and realizes he's almost certainly about to be paired with another man, because Hermione—or maybe everyone, he supposes—knows his preference in that regard. He also realizes who he's almost certainly going to be partnered with and he can't help wondering if this was somehow on purpose.

Hermione always figured there was something more between Harry and Draco than either of them ever let on. Harry dismissed this as ridiculous, Hermione hoping for an improbably happy ending like all those movies she loved and Ron tolerated. But Hermione sincerely believed that a relationship rooted in hatred could somehow end in love, sweet, unending love, and Harry had to hand it to her for her craftiness this time around.

Not that it would be going anywhere, of course.

"Alright, then," says Hermione, her voice carrying across the room. "Who's ready to begin?"


	2. Lesson Number One

"Really thought you'd be better at this," Draco mutters at Harry. "You can disarm, you can kill Dark Lords, and you can lead raids on illegal potions rings. But you can't do a box step to save your life."

"You should talk," Harry says quietly. "Haven't you been groomed for this sort of thing since infancy?"

"Let's talk a little louder, OK? I don't loathe the sound of Hermione's voice, but the 1-2-3-4 is driving me absolutely mad."

"You want to hear the insults a bit more clearly, then?"

Draco smirks. "You know it's what we thrive on."

"I suppose it is," says Harry agreeably. "So, back to it, then. You're going to stand—sway—box step right there and tell me that your parents didn't push you into tango lessons as a small child?"

"They thought it better to give me a broom and a wand and a few peacocks to train," Draco says, a trace of bitterness in his tone when he gets to the peacocks. "Now, I'd make a crack about your childhood and who raised you, but I've come to understand that's probably not very polite of me."

"Good of you to care about politeness after all this time," says Harry. He pauses. "I actually mean that, just a little."

Draco nods and a smile crosses his face, but only for a minute. "Even so, early childhood aside, I don't understand how you can move so quickly and precisely when you're on a broom or holding a wand, but you're absolute rubbish when given a rhythm and a partner."

"Dueling partners are easier," Harry counters. "They're not doing a very slightly modified version of exactly what you're doing. As an example, they might conjure a snake and test your reflexes as they've never been tested before."

"That's a lovely memory to revisit," says Draco. "It was charming, really, the way you slipped into Parseltongue and everyone thought you were evil all of a sudden. To be fair, I never thought you were the heir of Slytherin."

"I know," Harry says without thinking. Draco looks as though he's about to ask a question but Harry cuts him off, saying swiftly, "It might help if Hermione just stuck to something instrumental. I know her parents like the Beatles, but this really isn't working wonders for my already lacking rhythm."

"I'll say."

"Well, maybe if you let me lead for a second or two..."

Draco shakes his head firmly. "I've got at least three inches on you. It would look strange if you led. Plus, no matter how bad I may be at this, and I'll admit I'm quite dreadful, you're worse."

"Neither of you are any good," says Ron unhelpfully as he stops near them. "But you're a bit better than you were when you came in here."

"Right. Fine. How many more times do we have to do this?" asks Draco.

"Hermione was thinking five more weeks," Ron says.

"Five," Harry repeats. "Five more of this, five more of someone who's usually dead graceful holding onto me and being dead clumsy for nearly an hour."

"We should ask Hermione what she's trying to teach in the next four classes and do it on our own time," suggests Draco. "You know, soften the blow. Think we could do that, Weas—Ron?"

Ron looks amused as he nods and says, "I'll have Hermione explain what she's going to over-explain week to week."

Ron walks away, and Draco looks at Harry oddly. They execute a near-perfect box step and Seamus, who's alongside them with Parvati as his partner, nods at them and says "Good on you two."

"That wasn't bad, was it?" Harry asks Draco.

"No," says Draco, pausing for a moment to look a little closer at Harry. "But I think that's just because you called me dead graceful and I'm flying high on the humor of that."

Harry wills himself not to blush as they fall into step together again.


	3. Lesson Number Two

"How was your day, then?" Harry asks Draco as he scans Hermione's notes for the next lesson. It's the day after the first, and Draco insisted they get right to it; Hermione planned for the classes to conclude after the next party, and Draco wants to be ready for that one.

"Fine," says Draco. "Had to liaise with the Creatures department regarding this out of control brood of Kelpies in the lochs of the Highlands. You?"

"They're called broods? That's funny. I'm always interested in what groupings of animals are called. And it was fine. Desk job kind of day."

"Odd thing to be interested in," Draco comments.

Harry shrugs. "I'm sure there are odder. So, she says we need to listen to—oh, shit, this one's going to be in my head for weeks. And we're doing the Viennese waltz, I guess." Harry picks up Hermione's small white music player and searches its catalog for a song he thinks he hates. He puts a hand on Draco's shoulder and takes the other. Draco moves his free hand to Harry's side and they fall into step together.

_I don't like you, but I love you._

_Seems that I'm always thinking of you._

_Oh, oh, oh, you treat me badly._

_I love you madly._

_You really got a hold on me._

"It's not so much a box turn as it is a kind of sliding step-touch, step-touch, is it?" Draco shakes his head and grips Harry's hand a bit harder as though he's becoming more focused. "She really thought we'd be able to handle this after the first lesson?"

"I don't know, we seem to be doing pretty well, song aside," says Harry. "Could you loosen up a bit on my hand? I think you're stronger than you realize."

Draco smirks. "First you think I'm graceful, then you think I'm strong. Just can't make up your mind about what I'm best at, can you?"

"You're great at having a monstrously overgrown ego," says Harry.

"And what's wrong with the song?" Draco asks. "I quite like the idea of loving someone while simultaneously not being able to stand them."

"Do you really think that's what they're getting at? I always thought the singer was lying to himself, that he really did both like and love whoever he's singing to."

"Have you had relationships like that?"

"That's a fairly personal question."

"You're usually a bit of an open book."

"Fair point," says Harry. "And, in a romantic sense, no, I don't think so. I liked Ginny just fine, and if Cho Chang even counts, then it's the same sort of thing."

"You know you can't just skate over later relationships when everyone is fully aware of them, right? When we were reviewing the Unforgivables and determining if anything should be added, the Curse Breakers were called in to consult. And he never shut up about you."

Harry wonders if Draco purposely avoids saying Anthony's name. He doesn't like hearing it, so intentional or no, it's welcome. "I really liked ... him. We were better as friends. Not that he left that open. Now, fine, let's move to you. Do you do love/hate relationships?"

Draco shrugs. Harry realizes they haven't stomped on each other's feet or missed a step in several minutes. "Well, when Pansy and I were faux dating, there was some of that, but she's always been a good friend. Theo, never didn't like him. We've been able to do the impossible and stay friends. And there hasn't really been anyone else of note."

"How sad to belong to the 'not of note' category," says Harry.

"Well, you know, you date around when you feel the need for companionship, and even if it doesn't mean anything at all, there's still someone there."

"Did I just hear Draco Malfoy admit he doesn't want to be alone?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "I'm going to blame the confessional quality of the song. You're meant to think of me as a cold-hearted borderline emotionless bastard till the end of time."

"I quit thinking you were a bastard a long time ago and you know that." Harry feels his face flush and decides it doesn't matter enough to fight it off.

"What'd it take, then?" Draco asks. The song ends, and then it's on again.

"Adulthood," says Harry. "Mine and yours."

They haven't stopped dancing. Harry notices the way Draco's grey eyes slightly darken when he's talking about something that isn't on surface level.

"I suppose that sounds about right," Draco says. There's a long pause as they continue across the floor and some Beatle or another sings a sad song that Harry might hate a little less having actually thought about it.

"Oh," says Draco. "I have an extra ticket for Saturday's Quidditch match. It's the Catapults and the Harpies. Theo and I were going to go, but he can't make it. Would you be interested?"

"I don't know, that sounds an awful lot like something friends would do," Harry says, teasing a bit. "But I suppose if that's the direction you'd like to head in..."

"Worse things have happened, Potter." Draco smirks.

"Ah, yes, like your blunt refusal to consistently call me by my first name." Harry isn't trying to, but he smiles anyway. "Then sure. What time should I meet you?"


	4. The First Match

"I'm conflicted," says Harry to Draco. They're in a private box in the Catapults' stadium—a holdover, Draco says, of the veritable fortune his father invested in Britain's Quidditch organization. Only the two of them are there, and if asked, Harry would admit it's much nicer in here than it is in the stadium proper. It's warm and it's quiet enough to actually hear who you're talking to, and besides, he's not quite ready to answer questions about why he's spending time with Draco Malfoy. He supposes it wouldn't be as much of a news story as it might have been, say, five years ago, but the world would still care, and Harry would rather they didn't for now, and maybe forever.

"Why's that?" Draco asks, not taking his eyes off the pitch.

"I don't really support either of these teams. Both are fine, and the Harpies are brilliant this year, but, you know, I already have my loyalties."

"In those situations, I just cheer for whoever has more players I think are fanciable. And since the Harpies are all women, well, this one's a bit obvious, don't you think?"

Harry laughs. "I never took you to be this kind of gay. Gay, sure, not a surprise, but the kind who talks about men as though they're pieces of meat? Never thought of it."

"I don't do that in the slightest," says Draco. "I said 'fanciable,' not 'shaggable.' Although a case could be made for that for some of these players. Have you seen their Seeker?"

"He's fit," Harry admits. "But I was more looking at his form and his style of play than his ass."

"Sure you were."

"So, is this how you and Theo talk, too? Objectifying players, that kind of thing?"

"Theo mostly talks about how his mother is trying to get him to propose to one Greengrass or another and how it's driving him absolutely mad, and how he wishes he had a mother like mine."

"Why's that?"

"She's not forcing me into marriage," Draco says simply.

"Is that a pureblood thing, then?" asks Harry. "You've got to marry someone of the right social standing and blood status?"

Draco nods. "Thankfully, it's a tradition that's dying out, and one my mother never quite approved of. And she knows, obviously, so she didn't want to force me into a lifetime of pretending."

"I would say she's more considerate than I realized, but she did save my life once."

"Incidentally, she was glad to know I was spending time with you." Draco straightens the cuffs of his sleeves and avoids looking at Harry. "She thinks it's good for me, getting away from Pansy and Blaise and that lot once in a while. Plus, she likes you."

"What does she have to go on there?" Harry asks. "We haven't interacted much since..."

"You never did anything but help my family. You testified for us. You really think she'd forget that?"

"Oh. Right." It was long enough ago that Harry didn't often think about the immediate aftermath of the war, his defense of the Malfoys as misled rather than evil, his complete avoidance of answering questions posed by the press. He'd just wanted a break. Eventually, he'd stolen off to Shell Cottage and spent a few weeks living with Bill and Fleur. They understood. They stayed out of his way. And it was just what Harry had needed.

"I think you'll forgive me if I say that I did try to forget about those couple of months," says Harry. "It ... it wasn't a particularly pleasant time for me. Lots of unneeded attention."

"I don't know why I was ever daft enough to think you liked attention," Draco says. "Of course, I can to some extent read people, and I could do it when I was 14, and your reaction to that whole ridiculous Triwizard fiasco was enough to convince me you were content to slip through the cracks whenever possible."

"Seems strange that you would notice something my best friend didn't."

"Oh, yeah, you and Ron were fighting then." Draco smiles faintly. Harry does his best to focus on the game again, but that seems a lost cause, given that he's caught up in an actual conversation with Draco Malfoy. Again. "I remember thinking how much better it would've been for you to be my friend instead. I guess it took me a while to get over your rejection."

"Had I known you had it in you to be clever and mature and a good conversationalist, I may have shaken your hand that day," says Harry. "Better over a decade late than never, though, right?"

"Right." The Catapults' Seeker catches the Snitch and they win the game. Draco lets out a cheer and slings his arms around Harry. Harry, bewildered and not quite sure of what he's doing, responds in kind. Draco extricates himself from the hug, looking embarrassed.

"I ... usually it's Theo and we have an understanding that it's OK to have some kind of physical celebration when our team wins," Draco explains hastily. "I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable."

"You've done worse." Harry does his best to smile encouragingly and awkwardly pats Draco on the leg. Draco looks grateful as he stands up.

"Right, I'm going to head home," he says. "You're good company at a match, Potter. Maybe I should consider getting three tickets from now on. I think you and Theo would get on well."

"Well, thanks for inviting me. You're Apparating, then?"

Draco nods. "And I suggest you do the same," he says. "Believe me, the press knows this box belongs to the Malfoy family, and there's no telling what they'd assume from you leaving it."

"Well. Thanks, then." Harry stands up and, not knowing what else to do, extends his hand to Draco. Draco doesn't seem to think before shaking it. "Should we go on to lesson three on Monday?"

"Tuesday would be better for me," says Draco. "Have a nice evening, Potter."

Harry shakes his head and smiles. "You too, Malfoy." There's a cracking noise and Draco disappears. Harry follows suit and, before firecalling Ron and Hermione about getting a pint, spends a minute or two convincing himself he's not disappointed that Draco Malfoy's making plans without him.


	5. Lesson Number Three

"You're not going to ask how my engagement last night was, then?" Draco asks as soon as he walks into the regular room after the work day comes to a close. "I thought your manners were better than that."

"My manners are just fine," says Harry. "That's why it's not bloody freezing in this room."

"Warming Charm?"

"The best I had."

"Well done."

"And since I know you won't let up till I ask, how was last night for you?" Harry rolls his eyes as he's asking.

"It was just fine. Thanks for asking. My mother's doing reasonably well, though I imagine she'll be somewhere warmer by the end of the next week."

"Oh, you were with your mother?"

"Of course. Every Monday I am." Draco smirks. "If I'd had a date, you know I would've boasted about it as much as possible on Saturday."

"True."

"So, what are we doing today?"

Harry looks down at Hermione's notes. "Looks like she just wants us to review."

"That seems like a waste of time." Draco frowns. "Should we move on to the next one, then?"

"Oh, she put a note at the bottom." Harry scans it, looks up, and smiles. "I'm supposed to lead, she says. Just in case you ever wanted to give that up."

"I don't," Draco says flatly.

"Well, I suppose that's too bad, then." Harry turns on the dreaded song again and gets into position. Draco sighs heavily and allows himself to be led by Harry, however reluctantly.

"I suppose this isn't awful," says Draco a few seconds in. "Takes some of the pressure off. If we make any major mistakes, it's on your head."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, you're the one in charge."

"In that case, I'll be more careful than usual," Harry says. "Don't want to get blamed for breaking or spraining or straining any part of a Malfoy. Or anyone, really."

"How compassionate of you. You know, I'm loath to admit it, but Hermione had a good idea with these lessons." Draco allows himself to be tugged gracefully across the room, and Harry, not for the first time, notes how well they seem to move together. Not out loud, of course. "I'm not going to be nearly as embarrassed at the next gala." He pauses. "Unless I have to dance with a woman. It's not going to be the same."

"Are you saying you prefer me as your partner?"

"Whatever you say, Potter." Draco's smiling. Harry smiles back and, as soon as he catches himself doing so, stares fixedly at the wall behind Draco's ear.

"You can smile at me, you know," says Draco. "The grinning at the wall, that's a bit eerie. I'd prefer your grin in my face to somewhere behind me."

"But then we both have to acknowledge that we're enjoying each other's company," Harry says. "And I don't know if I can handle that."

"If I can, then you certainly can."

"Will you lead again? I get the feeling I'm not as good at this as I could be."

"And disobey dear Hermione's instructions? I thought you'd never ask." Draco swiftly repositions his hands and Harry follows suit.

"There's another match this weekend," says Draco. "Catapults again, but they're playing the Cannons this time. The Cannons are a little closer to what you'd call your team, right?"

"How'd you know that?"

"I've been by your office before. You've got a poster."

Harry nods. Seems reasonable enough, although why Draco would be around his department, he's not sure. "Well, it's Ron's poster, but I've more or less adopted an alliance to them."

"Are you interested in going, then? Theo's going to be there too, and his cousin Ali."

"How'd you swing four tickets?" Harry asks.

Draco shrugs. "I can swing as many as I want at any time. If you really want to make things interesting, we could invite Ron and Hermione, see how that goes."

"Are you serious? I know you're alright with them now, but a social engagement, that seems a bit much."

"I'm already hanging about with you all the time lately. It feels only natural to bring your other halves along."

"How can one person have two more halves?"

"Do you want them to go or not?" Draco's tone is teasing but firm enough for Harry to know he wants an answer, and soon, perhaps to allow himself plenty of mental prep time.

"I'll ask and I'm sure as soon as he knows it's the Cannons, Ron will convince Hermione it's a good idea," says Harry. "And, hey, thanks. It'll ... I think it'll mean a lot to them." He pauses. "And to me. It's ... I like being friends with you."

"It's not the worst thing in the world, is it?"

"Far from it." The song ends again and Draco lets go of Harry's hand after a beat or two. "I'm meant to have dinner with Pansy and her new boyfriend tonight. She likes my approval, no matter how much she'd never admit it." Draco cocks his head to the side and seems to examine Harry before saying, "She's sorry, you know, about how she treated you when we were at school."

Harry rolls his eyes. "We were children. I wasn't particularly nice to her, either."

"So I should tell her it's OK, then?"

"Does she know we're friends?"

"She might have some idea." Draco looks at the floor and Harry wonders if he's seeing an embarrassed Draco Malfoy for the first time in either of their lives. It's endearing, really, more than Harry wants it to be.

"Tell her it's OK, then," says Harry. "If it's really still on her mind, then she should know that."

Draco throws his satchel over his shoulder and clasps Harry's shoulder. "You're a good man, Harry Potter," he says with a half smile before turning on his heel and walking away. Harry doesn't have to wonder why his shoulder feels a few degrees warmer all of a sudden.


	6. The Second Match

They don't see each other for more than a few minutes at a time till Saturday, and Harry hates himself, just a little, for being so annoyed by this. He and Draco were only cordial to each other before, so why has he grown reliant on spending time with the man this quickly? It's not as though they've been friends for more than a week or two. Even so, Harry is disappointed when the Auror office gets unusually busy for the post-war climate and he can't continue getting ahead on lessons with Draco. And from the way Draco asks, both times Harry sees him in the elevator, whether Harry knows when his workload will let up, it's obvious he's disappointed, too.

Fortunately, by Friday, Harry's schedule is very nearly clear. And by Saturday, he and Ron and Hermione are more than ready for the match. Well, Harry and Ron are, at least. Hermione's just complaining about being the only girl in a group of six.

"Couldn't we invite Neville and Luna?" she asks desperately as they Apparate to the stadium.

Ron snorts. "Not enough of a stretch for us to be sitting in the Malfoy family's private box, then?"

"I just don't understand why you had to ask both of us along, Harry." Hermione sighs. "You know I don't care for Quidditch."

"So you and Draco can discuss that potential addition to the Laws of Transfiguration," says Harry. "Come on, you'll have a good time. It won't be as bad as you're thinking."

This time they didn't Apparate straight into the box, as Harry had previously. The three of them walked in together; Harry had reasoned this wouldn't look quite as strange if a group of them were there rather than just Harry and Draco. Draco, Theo, and a man Harry takes to be Ali are already there. Immediately after being introduced, Ron and Ali begin debating the respective merits of the Cannons' and the Catapults' rosters, Draco and Hermione heatedly discuss the reasoning behind the potential new Laws of Transfiguration, and Harry and Theo are left to chat about ... well, Harry doesn't know where such a conversation will go, exactly. He's never quite interacted with Theo before beyond smiles and nods.

"Bit awkward, isn't it?" Theo comments. Harry smiles as he feels the tension lift.

"It's odd, yeah, hanging out with his friends." Harry gestures toward Draco, who's gesturing wildly, using a stationary Snitch as a prop to illustrate some point or another. "But we've been doing the dancing thing, and we were getting on well enough, so..."

"I think it's good for him," says Theo. He's got a quiet, commanding way about him. It suits him. "Spending time with you, that is. Gets him out of that world with more frequency."

"The world of delightfully archaic pureblood tradition?"

"Indeed." Theo gets out a cigarette case. "You don't mind, do you?"

Harry shakes his head.

"Anyone else? Ron? Hermione?"

Ron waves his hand dismissively without disengaging from his argument with Ali, and Hermione turns, shakes her head, grins, and looks back at Draco again. Theo lights his cigarette and takes a drag.

"Where'd you pick that up?" Harry asks.

"Well, when I realized that my sexual proclivities were not what you'd call pureblood friendly..." He takes a much longer drag and seems to savor it. "I thought it might be rubbing salt in the wound, my parents' collective wound, that is, to look for a boy in our world. So I had a few Muggle clubs I went to. And I always seemed to gravitate toward the smokers." He extends the half-smoked cigarette to Harry, who accepts it out of some combination of courtesy and curiosity. The taste is alright, though he thinks that might have to do more with whatever lip balm Theo's got on. Harry looks around and sees Draco staring his way. He hands back the cigarette, which Theo finishes off.

Theo smirks and puts away the case. "I think he's worried that you're going to stray."

"Wait, what?"

"I see the appeal, really." Theo looks at him, really thoroughly examines him, and Harry's uncomfortable enough to look down and blush. "Kind of shy and retiring underneath all that stubborn bravery. No wonder he's mad for you."

Harry feels his heartbeat go a bit erratic. "No, he's not. We're friends."

"Right. You are." Theo pauses and looks at Draco, who's now joined Ron and Ali's conversation. "But did it not occur to you that there may be something more at work?"

"It might have done once or twice," says Harry. He still can't bear to look Theo in the face. "But I don't know why I need to tell you that."

"Neither of you has to tell me anything," Theo says. "It's rather obvious. You're both rather obvious. Maybe you should say something. He's chicken shit in these situations, you know."

"You asked him out, then?"

"Of course. And I could hardly get him to say yes. He was probably holding out for someone else, even then."

"I doubt that," says Harry, who's just regained enough composure to look at Theo. "I doubt he even knew I was gay before..."

Theo snickers. "He had you pegged sixth year, Potter."

"I didn't even have me pegged sixth year!"

"You can say this for the bastard: he knows how to read people." Theo gestures toward Draco, who's somehow involved Hermione in whatever conversation he and Ron and Ali are having, and everyone looks genuinely relaxed and happy. Harry suddenly has a desperate need to join the conversation, especially when he notices Ali hanging on Draco's every word.

"Don't worry," says Theo. "Ali's straight and engaged—to a Muggle, actually. His mother was furious. I'm hoping mine viewed it as a kind of warm-up."

"How'd you know I—oh. Right. I'm rather obvious."

"Yes, and no matter how obvious you are, you should probably just come out and tell him. Otherwise he may never do anything."

"I do like being his friend, though," Harry says, smiling over at Draco, who smiles back at him, though surreptitiously. Harry wonders whose sake that's for. "And I don't want to ruin that."

Theo shakes his head and laughs quietly. "Relationships are supposed to be more like friendships with sex than anything else."

Harry blushes. "Right. I think I'm going to see how Hermione's doing."

"I'm sure that's exactly what you're going to do."

Harry doesn't bother to defend himself as he stands and walks away.


	7. Lunchtime

"So, how are things going with you and Draco and your friendship?" asks Hermione. She and Harry and Ron are all in attendance at the next day's Weasley family lunch—specifically, what Hermione calls "the kitchen table pre-party portion." It's funny, Harry thinks, how much they still act like newlyweds sometimes, Hermione fussing with her ring and Ron slipping his arm around her as though claiming his territory in a very non-confrontational way. What's not funny is Hermione dancing around the question she really wants to ask.

"Why don't you just come right out and ask if we're shagging yet?" Ron snorts and Hermione smirks at Harry.

"If you were doing that, you would've already told me," she says.

"Who's Harry shagging?" George leans over into the conversation, and Harry is very, very glad Molly and Arthur, along with Bill, Fleur, Percy, and Audrey, aren't in the room.

"No one yet," says Ron. "But if both of them have their way, then Malfoy, probably."

"Really, Harry? Him?" George cocks his head to the side and studies Harry. "You sure you're doing alright? Not having your mind messed with or something like that?"

Harry rolls his eyes. "I'm fine. I just, we've been doing this dancing thing a lot lately, and we went to a couple Quidditch matches, and he's not bad company."

"He's also rather good looking, isn't he?" Ginny drops into the conversation. "Kind of grew into the pointed features, lost any rodent-like qualities, and now he has a better body. I heard he works out in a Muggle gym."

"Lifting heavy things and running in place?" George mock shudders. "Don't know why you'd ever subject yourself to that, although if it works for him and it's caught Harry's attention..."

"This is your fault, you know," Harry says to Hermione. "Pairing us off like that, you had to have known, you had to have been trying something."

"I thought it wouldn't be so bad to make you a little bit happier," says Hermione with a shrug.

"It's not fair to put it like that."

"Why not?"

"Because what if it hadn't worked? What if it still doesn't?"

Ron leans across the table to grasp Harry's shoulder. "Harry. Mate. You're not going to know if it works or not till you say something."

"Why do I have to be the one to say something if we're both interested?" Harry grumbles.

"Somehow that's just how you have to be," says Ginny. "Dean wouldn't ask me out again on his own, so I did it, and now, well." She extends her hand so everyone can get a look at her engagement ring.

"No one said anything about actually commitment," Harry says. "The idea of saying, 'Hey, former enemy, I'd like to go beyond our extremely improbable friendship and snog you senseless right now' seems tough enough."

"That's not really what you say to start a relationship," says George, scratching his head. "At least, I don't think it is. Wouldn't know, really."

"I thought you and Angie were still together," Ginny says to George.

"We are. Sometimes. I didn't have to do anything to start that, though. She just tapped me on the shoulder at Fred's wake and kissed me."

Ron nearly spits out the sip of water he's just taken. "That's how that started?"

"How come no one else has it that easy?" Harry sighs.

"Hey, to be fair to me, we were at my best friend and brother's funeral," George points out. "Anyway, Harry, the worst he can do is slap you or something, and it's not as if he hasn't done worse to you before. I think you should say something."

"So do I," says Ginny.

Hermione looks at Ron and then Harry and says, "You already know how we feel about this one."

"Fine," says Harry. "I'll try to do something about it sometime. When's the next dance lesson we haven't already gone through?"

"A couple weeks from now, but the next gala is this coming Friday." Hermione's eyes light up. "Oh, Harry, what if you asked him to the gala?"

"That," Harry says, "sounds terrifying."

"No, I think she might be right," Ron says, sounding thoughtful. "It would make sense, with you knowing how to dance together and all."

"Plus," says George, "after asking Malfoy to go to what is, by all accounts, a dance with you, any question thereafter—want to shag, want to get married, want to adopt, all that—will be nothing in comparison."

"You're so funny," Harry mutters as Ron, Hermione, and Ginny burst into fits of laughter and the rest of the Weasley brood comes into the kitchen.

"Everyone else seems to think so," George says cheerfully. "But really, Harry, say something, would you? It'd be good to see you as happy as everyone else seems to be, and you're already on your way there."

"I'll try."

"You will," George says, his tone turning stern.

"Fine. I will," vows Harry. George grins, Harry smiles back, and the knot in Harry's stomach grows ever tighter.


	8. An Invitation

Harry and Draco opt out of moving forward with lessons for the week preceding the next gala, which is to take place the coming Saturday.

"What's this one's theme, then?" Draco asks at lunch on Wednesday. He didn't provide reasoning for asking Harry to go a sandwich shop across the street from the main Ministry entrance, but, considering they're friends, Harry supposes he doesn't need to do that.

"It's called the November Pre-Holiday Ball," says Harry. "So I guess we're celebrating that soon, things will be happening."

"Always something worth celebrating." Draco swishes a spoon around in his hot chocolate. Harry hadn't expected that to be Draco's drink of choice, but it suits him somehow, often warmer and sweeter than expected. Harry hides a grimace, disgusted by his own sentimentality.

"There was something I wanted to tell you," says Draco. These are words that make Harry nervous anytime he hears them. These are loaded words, and Harry hardly wants to know.

"It's about Theo," Draco continues. "He's, well, it's embarrassing, really, but he still sleeps with a stuffed dog called Chestnut."

Harry gapes at him. "So, you introduced something with the ever-foreboding words 'There was something I wanted to tell you,' and it's just a pretty embarrassing though maybe a bit endearing fact about Theodore Nott?"

"It's endearing? Isn't it just embarrassing?"

Harry laughs. "Draco, why did you need to tell me that?"

Draco sighs and rakes a hand through his hair. For a moment, Harry wishes he were the one doing it. "Well, you were getting on so well at the match, sharing fags and everything, and I just don't want you to think he's, well, cooler than I am." Draco pauses. "He's not, you know."

Harry shakes his head and smiles at Draco, who still looks a bit nervous, as he has since he posed the question. "Don't worry. You're the coolest friend I've made in quite a while, if I'd even call Theo a friend yet. And sleeping with stuffed animals, well, it's a fine trait in a friend, but any more than that, I don't know that I could take it."

Draco seems to relax completely. "Oh. Good. I don't want to have to compete for your time."

"You don't have to." Harry takes a breath. "Actually, I had a question for you, too."

"What's that?"

"Would you, well, I was just wondering if you'd be at all interested in coming with me to the November Pre-Holiday Ball," Harry says. He wonders how he hasn't gotten any more suave since he was 14. Draco's not saying anything and that makes Harry even more uncomfortable than asking him in the first place.

"It doesn't have to be, like, a date or something," says Harry, desperate for Draco to say something, anything, even if it's a no. "We could go as friends, if you wanted. I just figured, we've been getting along so well, and it could be a good time for—"

"Shut up and let me tell you yes, Potter," Draco says, rolling his eyes. "There is one condition, though."

"What's that?"

"Let me know what you're wearing before the gala," says Draco. "I don't want to match too much, but we should to some extent. Actually, let's go to Madam Malkin's together on Saturday afternoon. I could use new robes, and I know you have the money for some as well."

"That is true."

"Also, I know that was your way of implying you'd like it to be a date." Harry blushes and Draco continues, "And that's fine. I like you, Potter. I have for a while. This can't shock you, and I know Theo told you I'm a coward about this sort of thing. Don't look so surprised, what else would you have been talking about?"

"Guess that's a fair point," says Harry, feeling his cheeks grow ever redder.

"So I suppose I'm saying this to prove I'm not. Not when I actually want something to happen with someone, no offense to Theo. Moreover, I know you like me, too, and I know we both viewed that first Quidditch match as a date to some extent. And it seemed to go well, I'm sure you'll agree, so we might as well let people know how well this potential thing we have is going, right?"

"Sure."

"You're more hesitant now. It's cute, really. You typically are."

"Did you just describe me as cute?"

"Yes. And hold onto that, Potter. It's the only time it'll ever happen." Draco pauses. "Harry. I suppose I should call you Harry."

"It would make sense, if we're going to go on a date and call it that this time," says Harry. "How much are you going to make me spend?"

"A lot. But it'll be worth it. They're going to take our picture no matter what. Might as well look good when it happens," Draco reasons, and Harry thinks how nice it would be to lean over and kiss him. But something tells him to wait, some combination of nerves and propriety. It makes sense to hold off till after the date, or at least some way through it, much as that idea doesn't appeal to him.

"How long?" Harry hears himself ask, not sure where it's coming from but suddenly unspeakably curious.

"What?"

"How long have you liked me? You said it's been a while."

"First noticed you were good looking fourth year during the first task of the Triwizard," says Draco, beginning to tick events off on his fingers. "First determined you were most likely gay sixth year. First thought that maybe your personality wasn't so bad eighth year. First considered asking you out when you broke up with Goldstein last year. And first realized it wasn't just a passing thing midway through the second dancing lesson. It was the way you talked about the song, I think."

"So because I'm a sap?"

"More or less, I suppose." Draco smiles. Harry wants to kiss him again and curses himself for being a gentleman, if that is what he's doing.

"I really, really want to kiss you right now." Harry doesn't mean to say so out loud, but it's a bit late to take it back, and Draco looks pleasantly surprised at the confession.

"What's stopping you, then?" Draco challenges him.

"One, I'm nervous as hell," says Harry. Draco laughs, and Harry attempts to ignore how adorable he finds him then. "And two, might as well go on a proper date before I try anything. At that point, maybe you'll like me enough to look past what a terrible kisser I am."

"To hear Ginny tell it, you're nothing of the kind."

Harry's face reddens yet again. "Why've you been talking to Ginny? And about me?"

"Misuse of Muggle Artefacts interacts with our department sometimes," Draco says with an elegant shrug. "She's always with Hermione, so the three of us talk, and naturally, the subject of you came up."

"You should probably thank Hermione," says Harry. "This is all her doing, you know."

"Ginny pointed that out at the start of lessons. Didn't seem to think it was a bad idea, though. She wants you to be happy. And she thinks I could do that for you."

"For what it's worth," Harry says, "I think so, too. I just, I don't think it's a bad idea to take it slow at first."

"So no kissing till the end of the night."

"Right."

"Groping?"

Harry splutters a bit, water trickling down his chin.

"It's a good thing I'm already attracted to you," says Draco. "Otherwise that might have killed any preexisting feelings. So that's a no on the groping?"

"I would think that groping would get pushed off till after kissing."

"Well, I suppose we'll see where the night takes us." Draco smirks at Harry's continued shyness; Harry can't quite say anything in response out of this healthy mix of pleasure and anxiety. "Saturday, then?"

"Saturday."

"It is, officially, a date," says Draco, extending his hand to Harry's. Harry shakes it and Draco lifts Harry's hand to his mouth, pressing his lips to Harry's knuckles in a soft kiss.

"Saturday at Madam Malkin's at 3pm?" Harry asks after catching his breath."

"I'll be there," says Draco.


	9. The Shop

The rest of the workweek passes without incident, and that's far more frustrating for Harry than he expects it to be. No truly distracting cases come up, so all he has to do is sit at his desk and think about Saturday, and it gets old. It gets old very, very quickly. He hardly even enjoys his weekly three pints with Ron and Dean at the Three Broomsticks, as he can think of little else but Draco sodding Malfoy, his practically glowing hair and impossibly straight teeth and full, pale pink lips and, well, what doesn't the man make look good?

"You should come back to the present, mate," says Ron two beers in. "It's nice here. Less thoughts of Malfoy's perfect posture."

Harry doesn't dignify Ron's comment with a response, as he's already gotten one of those in the form of a too-loud guffaw from Dean.

After a lengthy lie-in, shower, and pep talk with his ever-impossible hair, Harry makes his way over to Madam Malkin's on Saturday afternoon. He's 15 minutes early, but Draco's still beaten him there.

"Did you do something different to your hair?" Draco asks. "It looks less frightful than usual."

"How kind of you," says Harry. "I might have messed with it a bit more than I would on a normal day."

"Ah, so today's special, then?" Draco smiles at him sidelong as they begin browsing through the shop. "Why's that?"

"Well, there's this guy I kind of fancy, and we're meant to go out together tonight."

"Lucky man. What's he like? Devastatingly handsome, I imagine, and impossibly clever."

"Well, he's a bit of a prat, really," says Harry. "Exceedingly arrogant. Very fond of the sound of his own voice."

"Sounds like someone I could stand to get to know," Draco says. "We're running into a problem here, Harry."

"What's that?"

"I can't think of a color you'd look bad in."

Harry blushes. "Well, yellow's bad. And anything really bright, really."

"I mean a _wearable _color, of course," says Draco, rolling his eyes. "Obviously we're not wearing yellow or orange to this ... what are they calling it again?"

"The November Pre-Holiday Ball."

"Right. That. And no red or green, because that's tacky on multiple levels. No, I think we're sticking with a grey and blue and black palette. How does that sound to you?"

"Lead the way." Madam Malkin spots the two of them together and greets them warmly. Harry carries on a brief conversation with her while Draco, who seems to be on a mission of sorts, browses. He soon catches up with Draco, who thrusts a set of deep blue robes with grey accents at Harry.

"I think this'll do for you," says Draco. "Take a bit of focus off your eyes."

"What's wrong with my eyes?"

"Nothing, and that's the problem. When someone looks at you, it's about all they see. They're stunning, really." Harry feels his face reddening yet again and wonders if he'll ever stop blushing over Draco Malfoy. "And then they're not seeing everything else, which is equally pleasurable to look at. These'll help." He drapes the robes around Harry's shoulders and Madam Malkin rushes over to tailor them. Harry stands in front of the mirror and avoids Draco's approving gaze until Draco starts speaking and Harry recognizes how rude that would be to continue looking away.

"Did you see our article in the _Prophet_?" asks Draco.

"Oh, yeah, Hermione showed me," Harry says, smiling at the thought of the picture they'd put on the front page. It had been taken while they'd eaten sandwiches together earlier in the week. Draco was talking with his hands, as he often did when he had something important to say, and Harry was listening intently, a fond look on his face. "I liked the bit about the rumors of a whirlwind romance that are surrounding us."

"So did I. I had no idea such rumors existed."

"Well, people like good stories, and boyhood rivals, both somewhat prominent figures in the wizarding world, starting a torrid affair is a pretty good story."

Draco smiles at Harry and Harry wishes Madam Malkin weren't encircling his waist with her arms, pins in each hand, so he could ... well, he doesn't know exactly what he wants to do, but he knows it involves Draco and touching and maybe mouths in some way.

"So, what are you going to wear, then?"

Draco nods at a set of black robes edged with grey to Harry's left. "Those ones. That way we match without actually matching. Does that make sense?"

"Sure."

"These already fit you well, Mr. Potter," says Madam Malkin, stepping back to admire her handiwork. "And now they fit beautifully. Wouldn't you agree, Mr. Malfoy?"

"I would," Draco says, and Harry manages not to blush, but it's not easy. "Could you help me with these, then, Madam?"

Harry's about to ask Draco why he settled on black when he already seems to have plenty of perfectly fine black robes—and he looks good in anything, anyway, though Harry might not be ready to say that just yet—when he hears his name. He gives Draco an apologetic grin; Draco smiles and nods and Harry makes his way to the front of the shop.

"Getting ready for the ball, then?" Terry Boot grins at Harry, who's more than a little confused by the overly familiar greeting. He gets along fine with Terry, but they haven't had a conversation of much substance since Harry was dating Anthony. Anthony and Terry had been good friends in school and remained so.

"Yeah, actually, my date's getting fit for his robes right now," says Harry, gesturing toward Draco.

"Draco Malfoy, hm? I'm guessing Hermione had something do with that."

"You always were pretty bright. It was her idea partnering us, yeah." Harry feels himself smiling goofily but can't seem to hold it back.

"And you're happy with that?" Terry scrutinizes Harry, who feels a bit ill when Terry adds, "You know, Anthony was heartbroken when he saw the paper this week. Still drives him crazy, how things ended between the two of you."

"You mean how I broke up with him?" Harry looks to the store counter, where Draco is purchasing his new robes. He wonders how hard it would be to break away from this extraordinarily uncomfortable conversation.

"Well, yes, I suppose I do." Terry turns to look at Draco then looks back at Harry. "You know you could have him back whenever you wanted, right? He's not given up on you, even after what you did to him."

"But I don't want him back," says Harry. "I have what I want already."

"Him?" Draco's approaching now, and Terry's looking at him skeptically. "That's what you want? A celebrity fling of some kind with a famously volatile former Death Eater?"

"Terry, you are well out of order," says Harry. He hears his own voice shaking and doesn't care. "Draco—there's no reason for you to bring up something that happened so long ago. And you know what? I don't find him to be volatile. Not at all. He's kinder and cleverer than Anthony's ever been, and he's a damn sight more mature. I don't think Draco would send one of his mates after me to try and drag be back to him if I changed my mind."

"No, I don't think he would," says Draco, coming up and touching Harry on the shoulder. "I went ahead and paid for your robes. Did you want to take them off before we leave the shop, or would you like to leave them on for dinner? That's what I'm doing with mine."

"We're having dinner before?" Harry asks.

Draco laughs. "Of course we are. You think the food at these galas is sufficient as dinner?"

"Fair point. I'll wear them out, then. Boot." Harry nods at Terry stiffly and he and Harry exit the shop.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Draco asks. His hand is on Harry's shoulder again.

"Not much to say, really," says Harry, leaning into Draco slightly as they walk. Where they're going, Harry's not sure, but he's not in much mood to make decisions right now so he's fine being led by Draco. "My ex is sending people after me, trying to convince me that the decisions I make are worse than they'd be if I'd stuck with him, something I was never, ever going to do, considering how little I felt for him at any point in the relationship, and Boot forced me to defend what I've done when it really doesn't need a defense at all and oh, shit, I am talking about it, aren't I?"

Draco smiles at Harry softly. "Yeah, you are. But you should. You have a right to be upset. It's not a normal thing to do, send out scouts to find out if your old boyfriend wants to get back together." He pauses. "It did help me see that you are absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent over Goldstein, which wasn't so bad on my part. It was just a shit way of finding out."

"I'd never—Draco, I wouldn't go out with you if I was interested in someone else," says Harry.

"So you are interested, then."

Harry scoffs. "Of course I'm interested. Oh, thanks for covering the robes, by the way. I can buy you dinner if you'd like."

"I would like that, yes."

"And you?"

Draco looks confused. "And I what?"

"You're interested, too?"

"Don't make me say it out loud, Potter," says Draco. "Come with me. I know a place where we can get just drunk enough to enjoy ourselves all evening long."


	10. The Gala

Harry's not drunk when he and Draco arrive at the gala, but he's loosened up a bit thanks to some cheap beer and margaritas on special. He'd quite liked the Muggle bar Draco picked out for them, and Draco heavily implied they'd be back again together, and Harry has no problem with that idea whatsoever.

"This is..." Harry looks around the massive ballroom decorated in shades of red and green and gold. Normally the gala décor is subtler and involves far fewer balloons.

"Impossibly gaudy?" Draco offers. "Disarmingly tacky? Uglier than—"

"It's not _that _bad," says Hermione as she and Ron fall into step beside Harry and Draco. "Not their best work, but it's certainly nowhere near as tacky as the Valentine Ball."

"Skipped out on that one, I'm afraid," says Draco. "Single and bitter at the time."

"Not anymore, though." Ron grins and Harry, grateful for his close proximity, elbows Ron in the side. "Who else is coming to this, then?"

"Nev and Luna are over there with Lavender and whoever she's dating right now," says Hermione, gesturing across the room. "And there's a table full of Curse Breakers over there. Don't worry, Harry, no Anthony."

"Thank God," Harry mutters. Draco reaches over to grasp his hand for a second or two. He turns to smile at Draco, wondering how long Ron's going to remember how obviously smitten he's behaving. It'll probably be something like forever, but Harry doesn't think he cares this time around.

"The two of you are going to dance, right?" Hermione looks at Harry and Draco expectantly.

"Would you ever let us forget it if we didn't?" Draco asks.

"Really, Hermione, you don't even have to ask that," says Harry. "We're going to nail that Viennese waltz."

"Viennese waltz?" Hermione sounds impressed. "I didn't realize you'd gotten that far in the lessons."

"Well, it was the second one, wasn't it?" Harry asks.

Hermione shakes her head. "No, you were meant to do a more basic waltz before that. Twice, actually."

"You made us skip lessons, Potter?" Draco clucks his tongue and shakes his head. "You must really not have relished the idea of spending time with me." Harry can tell he's teasing and thus does not attempt to convince Draco otherwise.

"I apparently lost those lessons," Harry says. "We went straight from box step to Viennese waltz. And we're damn good at it."

Draco nods. "Thanks to that sodding song."

"She made you do the Beatles, didn't she?" Ron mock shudders. "Song gets old after a while."

"Draco quite likes it," says Harry, finding Draco's hand with his and interlacing their fingers. He feels a slight squeeze back and hides a smile. Ron and Hermione don't need to see everything. "He likes the idea of love sprung from loathing."

"Well, that makes sense," Hermione says, staring pointedly at Harry and Draco's hands. "Oh, there's Mafalda. Draco, would you like to talk to her, too, or shall I just drag my husband along?"

"Think I'll pass," says Draco. "Business, pleasure, mixing them, you know, it's not really something I'd care to do right now. Those blintzes look rather intriguing, though."

"Blintzes it is." Harry grins at Draco and very nearly sticks his tongue out at Ron, who's gazing longingly at the hors d'oeuvre table.

"Holding hands, then, Potter?" Draco says to Harry as they make their way around the room, occasionally stopping to chat with some colleague or another. "Bit forward, don't you think?"

"Had to touch you in some way, and this seemed the most proprietary."

For once, it's Draco whose face flushes. "_Had _to?"

"It's not my fault you look incredible."

"Well, in some sense, it is, actually," Draco counters. "You asked me to accompany you to the gala, I agreed, and as a Malfoy, I am held to a certain standard of physical presentation, namely as close to perfection as one can come."

"You've done alright, I'd say."

"As have you."

"Draco!" Harry's date is wrenched away from him and pulled into a hug by Blaise Zabini. He's with an older witch—Meaghan McCormack, Harry recognizes, the former Keeper for Pride of Portree—and excited enough to see Draco that he can't seem to keep his voice down.

"Hi, I'm Harry," he says to Meaghan, extending a hand. "You're Meaghan McCormack, right?"

She shakes his hand and nods, looking pleased that Harry knows who she is. "Nice to meet you, Harry. You do know you don't have to say your name when you meet people, right?"

"I'm just the same as everyone else," he says with a shrug. "How'd you meet Blaise?"

"Tripping Jinx gone wrong," Meaghan says, smiling wryly. "He was going for someone he went to school with—Theo, I think it was—on the way out of a Wasps and Kestrels match and got me instead. He helped me up and recognized me and we've been hanging about together ever since."

"Romantic, I suppose," says Harry. "Have you met Draco, then?"

"Once, I think, but he was distracted—by you, I'm guessing," Meaghan says. "He had something to go and do, attend a match, probably, and your name didn't come up but Blaise mentioned you later, said you'd been spending a lot of time together."

"Suppose we have." Music begins playing, and Harry can't resist tugging on Draco's hand and gesturing toward the dance floor.

"Well, it's no Beatles, but it'll have to do," Draco says with a rather theatrical sigh. "Are we ready to knock this out of the pitch?"

"As we'll ever be." Harry smiles at Meaghan. "Nice meeting you. And seeing you, Blaise." He then follows Draco's lead onto the floor.

"We could start with box stepping, you know," says Harry to Draco as the two of them smoothly transition into a Viennese waltz.

"Don't be ridiculous," Draco says. "This song's in 6/8 time. We can't do a simple 1, 2, 3, 4 step to it. We've got to do this. It's a good thing you decided we were too good for an easier waltz."

"I never decided that! She never gave me the instructions, I swear. I wouldn't—" Harry looks at Draco and the way the light catches his soft grey eyes and brightens up his already borderline blinding white-blond hair. "I wouldn't ever skip out on spending time with you. Not then and especially not now."

"I'll accept that," says Draco, smiling slightly. "You do look rather good, by the way. That girlfriend of Blaise's looked like she wanted to jump you."

"So indelicate," Harry says, laughing. "She was just being nice. Blaise actually did jump you and you seemed fine with it."

"Helped me to forget about how badly I want to get you out of here and back to my flat," says Draco, not missing a beat. "Knew I could make you blush."

"You always can," Harry says. "Can I lead?"

"Not a chance."

"And do you mean that?"

"Hard to say," says Draco. "I do want you. But I also think we shouldn't move too fast, considering the fact that we actually have feelings for each other and this isn't about sex. At least, not entirely."

"I'm meant to ask you to go to Ron and Hermione's with me after this anyway."

"What's at Ron and Hermione's?"

Harry looks around at the balloons and the podium at which at least four ancient Ministry officials would almost certainly be giving speeches by the end of the night. "A better party than this one."

"Why aren't we there, then?" There's a hint of challenge in Draco's tone as he looks at Harry expectantly.

"It's only been one dance," says Harry.

"So?"

"So we usually wait three."

Draco looks thoughtful. "I suppose I can wait for that. But no more than three, right?"

"No more than three, I promise." Harry pauses. "I have to admit, though, I'm enjoying this a bit more than before."

"Don't tell anyone I admitted it," says Draco, smiling. "But so am I."


	11. Never Have I Ever

Not for the first time, Harry wishes he'd paid attention to Draco Malfoy sooner than this. Right now, he's on the floor in front of the couch, beer in hand, leaning against Draco's legs. Draco's running his fingers through Harry's hair and Harry's wondering how something so simple can possibly feel so good.

"I like how I don't have to worry about messing up your hair in doing this," Draco comments. "Can't possibly make it any worse."

"That's very sweet of you to say," says Harry. "What's everyone doing? Why are we alone?"

"Are you complaining?" Harry looks up at Draco, who's smirking down at him. "Luna and Longbottom are in the kitchen with Ron and Hermione, picking which wine is bad enough to waste on a drinking game. Everyone else decided it was too late."

"It's only..." Harry cranes his neck to look at the ancient grandfather clock behind the couch Draco is sitting on. "Oh, when'd it get past midnight?"

"When you kept nodding off while Hermione and I talked about how they're trying to get _Incendio _put on the Unforgivables list. That's when Thomas disappeared with a girl literally none of us had ever seen and Corner and his wife had to go relieve their babysitter. Corner aside, your parties are very Gryffindor-heavy, Potter."

Harry shrugs. "You stick to what you know, I suppose."

"Except for you."

"Well, what can I say? I like making a statement." Harry grins up at Draco, who rolls his eyes before leaning down to brush a kiss across the crown of Harry's head.

"OK, we've all played Never Have I Ever before, right?" Ron asks as he walks into the room with two bottles of white wine and a stack of red plastic cups. Hermione, Neville, and Luna follow him in.

"This is the one where you drink after you have done something whatever less adventurous person hasn't, right?" Draco nods. "A Slytherin common room staple."

"You drank in your common room?" asks Hermione.

"Didn't you?"

The others arrange themselves in a loose circle on either side of Harry and Draco. Ron hands out the cups and pours wine into each of them.

"I think Harry should start," says Ron.

"No, I definitely shouldn't," Harry says. "I've done more stupid things than the rest of you lot combined."

"That's for damn sure," says Draco, running his fingers through Harry's hair again.

"Alright, fine, I'll go," Neville volunteers. "Never have I ever been attracted to a Hogwarts professor."

Harry rolls his eyes and takes a drink. He's not surprised to see Hermione do the same, though Ron looks to be. It is a little odd to know that Draco has, at some point, looked at a professor a little bit differently from what's proper. He turns to Draco and mouths, "Snape?" Draco nods. Harry mouths "Me too," Draco smiles, and Harry wonders who else they may have both been attracted to in the past.

"Wait, it wasn't Vector, was it?" Ron asks Hermione, who sighs.

"Of course it was Vector," she says. "Draco, surely you can attest to his appeal. Numbers are sexy, anyway."

"He's a good looking man, Weasley," says Draco. "I'll go next, alright? Never have I ever, oh, I don't know, used Polyjuice Potion."

Harry, Ron, and Hermione take a drink.

"What?" Neville and Draco ask in unison.

"I'll tell you later," Harry promises Draco. "Oh, here's one. Never have I ever kissed a girl and enjoyed it." He's pleased to see Draco hold off from drinking.

"I won't tell Ginny, Harry," says Ron.

"I might," Hermione says, eyes sparkling. "My turn! Never have I ever cast an Unforgivable Curse." She raises an eyebrow at Harry, who shakes his head as he gulps down some wine. He turns to look at Draco, who's doing his best to surreptitiously do the same.

"Wait, what have you done? I—" Harry remembers their encounter in the toilet sixth year, how he cut off Draco's _Crucio _with a _Sectumsempra_. It's not a thought Harry revisits very often. But, rather inexplicably, Draco is smiling.

"I used the Imperius Curse on Theo Nott to convince him to keep my things clean all through first year." Everyone laughs as Draco leans back, looking quite satisfied with himself. "I can blame that on misled youthful thinking."

"You could cast an Imperius Curse at age 11?" Hermione sounds impressed.

"I had lessons every day from age six onward," says Draco with a shrug. "Some from Severus, some from my mother, and most from my father."

"Private lessons with Snape? No wonder you were so good at Potions," Ron says. "What other hidden talents don't we know about?"

"Would you really like to know the answer to that?" asks Draco. Ron turns nearly as red as his hair, and Hermione clears her throat before suggesting they get back to the game.

"I haven't gone yet," says Luna, "nor has Ron. Ron, would you like to go first, or shall I?"

"I'll take this one," Ron says. "Never have I ever kissed a man."

A collective groan goes up as everyone but Ron takes a drink.

"Really, Neville?" asks Harry.

Neville flushes slightly but holds his composure rather well, given the circumstances. "It was a dare at Seamus' 19th birthday party. Honestly, I think Dean would have a harder time admitting it than I do."

"And how was it?" Hermione asks.

"Odd, really," says Neville. "Women are a lot softer than men. There's a roughness there that's not necessarily pleasurable—my apologies, boys," he says with a wave at Harry and Draco.

"You're quite forgiven, Longbottom," Draco says, putting his hands on Harry's shoulders. "I'd rather have Potter to myself anyway."

"I'm next, then," says Luna. "Never have I ever loved someone on or before the first date."

Harry doesn't dare look at Draco as he downs the dregs of his wine. He does hear a gulp behind him, though, and what a welcome sound that is. Harry sees Hermione take Ron's hand, and the two of them exchange the kind of look Harry's always envied, but is beginning to think he won't have to envy anymore.

"It's getting a bit late now, isn't it?" Draco asks, standing and stretching. Harry follows suit as they thank Ron and Hermione for hosting, say their goodbyes, and walk out the door. Draco extends a hand, and Harry takes it as they walk to the edge of Ron and Hermione's drive.

"I'd say this night was a success," says Draco, lacing his fingers through Harry's. "Not too many reporters, and I don't think anyone would've seen us leaving as a group with your lot and thought something was afoot."

"You and your properness," Harry says, laughing. "I can safely say I've never heard anyone use the word 'afoot' in casual conversation before. And, hey, they're your lot now, too."

"Are they?" Draco asks as they reach the sidewalk. "I have to go left, and I'm guessing, from the way you're veering, that you don't."

Harry shakes his head. "My flat's just a few blocks away. I used to live in London proper, in my godfather's family home, but I got my own place a few years ago. Too many memories, I think."

"I'm glad you can tell me that sort of thing," says Draco. "Guess I really am one of your lot now, then."

"More than that," Harry says, running his free hand along Draco's maddeningly perfect jaw. Or maybe not so maddeningly. Right now, it's suiting Harry just fine.

"I—well, we both had a brilliant time tonight," says Harry. "Didn't we?"

"I'd agree to that, yes," Draco says. "I should tell you before you ask that I don't like the term 'boyfriend.' I highly prefer 'significant other' or 'the man I'm seeing.' There's something very juvenile about 'boyfriend.'"

"Is that your way of asking me to ask you out?" Harry holds back a laugh. Draco can tell.

"I suppose it is," he says, breaking down and laughing. Harry joins him, and that's what they do for about 15 seconds until Harry notices how close his face is to Draco's and, by extension, how close together their lips are. Taking advantage, he leans in and kisses Draco. It's soft and closed mouthed and quick, but it's exactly what Harry wants it to be—a kind of question.

"And that's your way of asking me out, I suppose," Draco says after a beat.

"Can't wait to see how you say yes," says Harry. "Well, presuming it's yes. I think if it had been no, you'd have slapped me and walked away by now."

"Too right," says Draco, initiating the kiss this time. This time, Harry leaves his mouth open, and before losing all rational thought, he convinces himself that he should never close it again when he kisses Draco, because as it turns out, Draco's tongue has more uses than clever lies and painful insults. He seems able to map out every sensitive bit of Harry's mouth, and Harry's not sure how long he allows it to happen, but it's messy and frantic and wonderful the entire time, even when loud, rhythmic applause interrupts them.

"That's really lovely, boys," says Neville, joining them outside. "Any other tricks you'd like to show off?"

"Not outside the bedroom, Longbottom," Draco says dryly, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "Why don't you two run along, let the adults talk?"

"Whatever you say, Malfoy," says Neville with a grin, hooking his arm around Luna's waist and walking the other way. Harry looks at Draco, who's walking toward the right now.

"If I didn't know better, I'd say you were walking toward my flat," Harry says, catching up and putting his arm across Draco's shoulders. Immediately, Draco's arm encircles Harry's waist.

"I am," says Draco. "But not to go there myself, just to walk you home, because that's what a gentleman does, especially after a gentleman participates in some mind-blowing snogging at the bottom of someone else's drive."

"Fair enough," Harry says. "Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

"Little eager, aren't we, Potter?" Draco looks at Harry sidelong and smiles. "I typically spend Sundays at the Manor."

"I thought that was Tuesdays."

"Good memory. It's both. Sundays are more of an event, though. Parkinsons and Zabinis and Notts running rampant. You could come along if you'd like."

"Sounds terrifying. I'm not sure I'm ready to meet your mother yet."

"You've met," says Draco. "I believe she saved your life once."

"You know what I mean," Harry says. "As your significant other. See, the nice thing about being an orphan is there's no awkward interaction with my parents on your part."

"Only you could make light of your orphaned status." Draco squeezes Harry's hand.

"I do what I can. So, let's not do tomorrow, unless you really want me to."

"Eventually, I would like it if you did. But that can happen later." Draco pauses. "You know I'd like to be with you for the foreseeable future, right?"

"You hadn't quite put it that way before," says Harry. "But yeah, I had guessed so. And I'm assuming you know I feel the same."

"It's nice to hear it out loud anyway." There's comfortable silence for a minute or two till Harry decides to break it.

"What Luna asked about earlier—"

"I think it's enough to know that we both know, Harry." Draco stops walking and pulls Harry by the shoulder till they're facing each other. "I'm not good at actually expressing my feelings, saying them out loud. Drinking worked better, in this case, don't you think?" He leans in and they're kissing again, deeper, more urgently this time, Draco's mouth moving from Harry's to the chin and the neck and, after pulling at Harry's shirt collar, the collarbone. Harry gasps and sees his breath and remembers where they are.

"Draco, I know neither of us care about the press—at least, not too much—but we are out in wizarding London, snogging on a street corner."

Draco lets go of Harry and takes a step back. "I suppose you have a point."

Harry gestures to the next street. "We're almost to my flat. I—I really want to ask you in but I don't think I should." They start walking again and Draco looks at Harry speculatively before putting his arm around Harry's waist again. Harry leans into him, taking in that uniquely wonderful Draco smell, piney with a hint of something fruity.

"No, probably not," says Draco. "I don't want to move too fast with this. It has the potential to ruin things."

"I thought you should know that I desperately want to anyway," Harry says. "I'm right here."

Draco nods and, looking reluctant, takes his arm away from Harry's waist. "Thank you. For asking me along tonight."

"Who else would I ask?" Harry smiles and kisses Draco, quickly this time, so as not to invite attention or any more temptation than is already there. "It's always been you and me, hasn't it?"

"Yes. I'd say it has. Good night, Potter." Draco kisses Harry again. It's not quite as mild as what's just happened, but it's not as heated as earlier. It's a happy medium, one of the happier mediums Harry's reached in memory.

"Good night, Malfoy." Before he can change his mind, Harry turns and walks into his flat, finally answering Draco's question to himself—yes, this time, drinking worked better.


	12. Another Lunch

_H—_

_This week's going to be a busy one and I'm afraid I won't be able to see you outside of work hours till Friday. Can I make it up to you with dinner?_

—_D_

Harry frowns at the note. It's only Monday morning and he's missing the man's company already, which feels pathetic but justified. He'd spent Sunday at the Weasleys, but being surrounded by Ron and Hermione and George and Angelina and Dean and Ginny had only made him lonelier. He wasn't exactly kicking himself for opting out of a day at Malfoy Manor, but Harry wonders if that might've been better.

Harry looks around his office, at the open case files on his desk and the moving pictures he's pinned up on the walls and the fishbowl Ginny had gotten him after he'd broken up with Anthony.

"His name's David," she'd said about the blue betta fish inside. "You won't ever get sick of his voice, since he doesn't have one, or his nervous tics, since he doesn't really have those, either. Just feed him once or twice a day and he'll be the most reliable friend you'll ever have."

Harry smiles at the memory and pulls the nearest case file close enough to study it. Flipping through the pages, he tries to remind himself why the Fwooper infestation in Staten Island, New York had ever come across his desk. He picks up an inter-office memo to send down to Luna's department, but decides he'd better dash off a reply to Draco first.

_D—_

_I like the single letters thing. It's cute. It's like a thing we can have between us._

Harry shakes his head and crumples up the paper. Surely he can do better than that.

_D—_

_Dinner would be lovely. If you ever want to get lunch or take an afternoon break together, let me know._

—_H_

"Doesn't sound too clingy, does it, Dave?" Harry asks his fish. David glub glub glubs in return.

"Glub glub to you, too," he grumbles as he folds the note into an airplane and sends it off. He's about to write Luna when she comes right through his office door.

"Harry, have you seen the Staten Island Fwooper incident report?" she asks, sounding decidedly less dreamy than usual. "I think it may have been misplaced."

Harry closes the file and holds it up. "I was just wondering why this would be under my jurisdiction," he says. "And, not to impose, but isn't Staten Island outside our area of operation?"

Luna steps forward to take the file and smiles at Harry. "Thank you. And, well, yes, but their Magical Creatures department leaves a little something to be desired. We get called in a lot on their larger fiascos."

"And the Fwoopers are a fiasco?"

She nods. "The mania, you know."

"Right. Well, nice to see you, regardless of circumstance." Harry grins at Luna. "Would you like to have lunch sometime, me and you and Nev?"

"That sounds lovely," says Luna, back to her typical far off tone. "Are you and Draco having lunch together as well as groping each other in public?"

Harry scoffs. "We weren't _groping_, it was just kissing. And we did once, but I don't know if it's a regular thing." A muted green paper airplane zips through the doorway and into Harry's waiting hand. "This should be him, actually. Wonder where he got these nicer colored papers." Somehow not caring that Luna might find him rude, Harry unfolds the paper and reads Draco's note.

_H—_

_I'd quite like that. Tuesday would work well for me. Also, I don't say this particularly often, so cherish it: I'm sorry I won't be able to see you more, selfishly and otherwise._

—_D_

"What did he have to say?" asks Luna.

"Not much, but just enough," Harry says. "Oh, God. Was that as disgusting out loud to you as it was to me?"

"I think you're just being romantic," she says. "And I've never seen that bit of you before, and I like it. You seem happy now."

"Did I seem unhappy before?"

Luna cocks her head to the side and examines Harry. "No, you were satisfied enough, but not ever excited about very much, and now you seem excited just to see me. It's nice, really. Appreciating him makes you appreciate everyone, I suppose."

It was true, Harry thinks as he heads for Draco's office and knocks on the door at lunchtime the next day. Luna's always been strange, but she's a damn good judge of character, and he's never met anyone more observant, not even Hermione or the most skilled among the Auror department.

"Come in," he hears. Harry opens the door and sees Draco at his desk, head bent over a piece of parchment, brow furrowed in concentration. Draco looks up at him and smiles brilliantly for just about a second before looking down again.

"There's this brief I need to finish two hours ago," says Draco. "I'm much happier to see you than I look right now. There's a new _Quidditch Today _on the table next to you if you need a distraction."

Harry picks up and leafs through the magazine, coming across an article about the advantages and disadvantages of the Wimborne Wasps' choice of broom and reading it till Draco places the brief in his out box. Draco stands and stretches and shrugs his way out of his robes.

"You could leave yours here, too, if you'd like," he offers. "I find I'm much less comfortable without them, especially in public."

"Don't like people knowing you're a Ministry employee?" Harry removes his robes and drapes them over the chair next to the door.

"Don't want people thinking I have the attitude of the kind of Ministry employee that wears their uniform out of office," says Draco. "Oh, close the door."

Harry obliges and is promptly pushed against the wall. Draco kisses him and Harry loses himself in it, relishing the feel of Draco's fingers in his hair and Draco's hips under his hands. It's only a few seconds before Draco takes a step back, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smirks, and opens the door, but it's a few seconds that leave Harry's mind and heart and inner workings rattled.

"A little warning would be nice next time," he says to Draco, who's still smirking.

"No, it wouldn't," says Draco. "I like the way you look when I've surprised you. And judging from the tightness of your trousers, you're not too unhappy about it."

Harry struggles not to blush. "And you have to do it when I don't have anything to hide it, not even robes. So cruel."

"Well, I can't lose all my high points over time, now, can I?" Draco takes Harry by the elbow and Apparates them out in front of a restaurant, its name written in script. Harry recognizes the language as French but can't parse out what it says.

"It's called The Garden," says Draco. "You don't speak French, then?"

"I don't speak any other languages."

"I can teach you a couple if you'd like. Not easy, but worthwhile if you ever want to travel."

"I haven't done so far," Harry says. "But it's something I'd like to do eventually."

"Eventually?" Draco gives his name to the maître d, who leads them to their table. After they're seated, Draco asks, "Why not now?"

"Well, I've got my job right now," says Harry. "And a life, and friends, and a boyf—sorry, a significant other."

Draco smiles. "I don't know why you'd let any of that stop you." A waiter comes by, and Draco orders for Harry and himself in what Harry assumes to be perfect French. "The Auror corps relies on you but they have plenty of other talented people in their employ. Your friends, they've got enough going on, what with Hermione's regular insistence that she and Ron reproduce and Ginny's wedding planning and the inevitable breakup of Longbottom and his girlfriend. And me, well, you could bring me along and I could help you with language and the like." He leans back and crosses his arms, looking self-satisfied.

"Alright, a couple questions, then," says Harry. "Well, one, really. What do you mean, the inevitable breakup of Neville and Luna?"

"She's bored," Draco says. "She doesn't listen when he's talking, she looks at every other man as a prospect or at least a piece of meat, and he's oblivious enough that eventually she'll have to break things up herself."

"I've always thought of her as the most perceptive person I know," says Harry. "But maybe that's you. I mean, why you're here with me is beyond me, but you seem to understand people quite well."

"Beyond you," Draco echoes, a small smile on his face. "You're saying you don't understand why I care to spend time with you?"

Harry shakes his head. "Not really, no. I mean, I guess we get along and you like talking to me and you think I'm attractive, for some reason or another, but I can't really work out why you find me appealing, physically or otherwise."

"Do you want an itemized list, then?"

"Wouldn't mind one."

"Well, for one thing, you say things like that," says Draco. "You have no perception of what a thoroughly, bafflingly good person you are, and your ego doesn't seem to exist. You have a good sense of humor about yourself and the Ministry, you're friendly to everyone you meet, you don't let the press get to you, you're top notch at your job—is that enough for you?"

"Well, you've just described me, as you perceive me, in a non-physical way, and it was pretty nice to hear," Harry says. "What about how I look?"

Draco rolls his eyes. "Fine. I suppose I can do this. Your hair's never going to be anything but a wreck, but it looks right on you somehow. Your smile is just the right kind of crooked, you don't look weird when you grin—that's really common, you know," he says with a pause. "Your skin tone makes me think I should go outside more often, your muscle tone is borderline perfect, and your eyes, I'm not even going to go into that, because I hate the thought of how I'd sound if I did."

The waiter drops off their food and Harry looks at Draco, wishing everyone else in the immediate area would go away so he could have another kiss.

"I could talk about yours, if you'd like," says Harry after taking a bite.

"Humor me."

"I can hardly stop looking at them whenever I'm around you. They're that kind of incredible." Draco's smiling now as Harry continues, "Your hair and your skin are about the softest things I've ever touched, your smirk is infinitely more appealing than it was when we were in school, and you say my muscle tone's perfect? Have you seen yours?"

"It's not all that amazing," says Draco.

"You're charming, and funny, and intelligent, and you're upfront about things. You say what you mean. No one does that enough, and you always do. You act the way I try to on my best days and you have an ego but, well, you've earned it." Harry shovels some food into his mouth in order to shut himself up. The look on Draco's face is hard to discern until the furrowed lines seem to fall away and he's full on grinning.

"I'd almost think you liked me," says Draco.

Harry puts down his fork and reaches for Draco's hand. He interlaces their fingers and grins. "Yeah," he says. "Almost."


	13. The Next Step

The _Prophet _stories grow more laughable by the day. In the two and a half weeks that follow, Harry and Draco have performed a bonding ceremony (a pre-engagement, according to Hermione), exchanged rings, and gone to the altar at a frenzied pace, according to the press. Of course, those that know the two of them well, or really at all, are wise to the fact that none of this is true, that Harry and Draco are simply dating, nothing more. Still, Harry clips the photos from each article till there's quite the sizable stack on the corner of his desk, pictures of him and Draco out to lunch, at the Ministry's next gala, and in a park a block or two from work that they both quite liked before they dated and enjoy substantially more now that they're together.

"We could get a proper picture of the two of us, you know," Draco comments one Saturday afternoon as he and Harry settle in to watch the Cannons play the Wasps in the first game of the Quidditch finals. Ron and Hermione are set to arrive within half an hour, as are Theo and his new fiancée, Astoria Greengrass, and Neville, who has indeed been jilted by Luna.

"Like a portrait?" asks Harry.

Draco nods. "I wouldn't mind having something to put on my desk or on the wall in my flat," he says. "Then you could get rid of the growing number of photos taken through trees and shrubs and all manner of greenery."

Harry's laughing at Ron and Hermione walk in. They exchange greetings and Hermione and Draco almost immediately launch into a conversation about the ongoing case against Dalton Safry, a protégé of Fenrir Greyback's who Harry, Ron, and several other Aurors captured on a recent raid.

"There's no way we won't get him," Harry hears Draco reassuring Hermione before tuning out the discussion. "The evidence against him is staggering."

"Leave them to talk about work when the best game of the season so far's about to start," Ron says to Harry with a grin. "So Nott's going to be here today, too? And Neville?"

"Yeah, the two of them, and Theo's fiancée as well," says Harry. "Be nice to her. I'm sure she's still struggling with the fact that her husband couldn't find her less attractive."

"Not entirely true," Theo says as he walks in with a slim blonde in tow. Though Harry doesn't typically notice when women are pretty, it's impossible in this case. Astoria's blue eyes sparkle as she looks around the room, even her closed-mouth half smile is stunning, and her prominent breasts seem fit to burst out of her already low cut shirt. Ron notices, too, and Hermione breaks away from Draco long enough to notice Ron noticing, and Harry stifles a chuckle at the conversation they'll surely have about that fact later.

"See, Harry, as I'm sure you'll notice, Astoria is as nice to look at as a classic painting or a fine piece of architecture," says Theo.

"And I do love being compared to castles and Monets," Astoria says dryly, extricating herself from Theo and plunking down in the seat beside Hermione. "Hi," she says to Hermione. "We've never met, but I really admire the work you did last year in the Rodanthe case. He was a former coworker of my father's and a perfectly despicable human being."

Hermione, caught off guard, thanks Astoria, and the two of them begin talking about the finer points of that particular case, of which Harry has no recollection. He tugs at Draco's arm, and he, Draco, Theo, and Ron gather at the back of the booth to get a drink.

"No matter how devoted I am to scotch," says Theo, "I can never say no to cheap beer during a Quidditch match. Now, Weasley, I know you support the Cannons, but do you really think they have half a chance today?"

The conversation that follows is sure to be heated, so Harry and Draco step aside.

"Astoria seems great," says Harry. "Would you have been matched with her, you think, if your mother was on with that tradition?"

"Almost certainly," Draco says. "And in terms of intellect and humor, a gay man couldn't make a better female friend than Astoria. If I were even ten percent straighter, I think I would've been able to grin and bear it. Or at least take on a cold yet respectable patrician front and bear it."

"Thank God you aren't," says Harry, putting his hand on Draco's waist in a way he hopes is surreptitious. No one seems to pay them much mind, and Draco returns the gesture.

"Not when you're here, and have been since I was 16," Draco says. "Anyway, Astoria's not as delicate as you think. She understands the arrangement and will most likely continue seeing Paolo Rodrigues after she and Theo wed."

"The Spanish Quidditch player? The disgustingly attractive one?"

"Yes, the disgustingly attractive one," says Draco. "They've been carrying on for a couple years solid and I have to say, their ability to hide it from the press is beyond impressive."

"We could've done it if we tried," Harry says.

Draco laughs. "You know that's not true. You can't keep your hands off me, no matter where we are."

"I guess I'll concede," says Harry, briefly slipping both arms around Draco's waist and kissing his cheek before backing away slightly. Though he and Draco haven't been further than snogging yet, that suits Harry just fine; he's never come across a better kisser than Draco, nor a man whose company he's enjoyed more. He sees no need to pay attention to anyone else when Draco's around, but he does it anyway because it really is fun, spending time with their now-mutual friends and having a few drinks and playing a card game or two while they gossip and discuss and debate.

At least, it's fun when he isn't around, Harry thinks as Neville enters the booth.

Since Luna broke up with him two days after Draco first brought up the idea that she certainly would, Neville's been in a kind of malaise, skiving off his apprenticeship with Professor Sprout and whinging about the trials and tribulations of brokenheartedness to anyone who would listen. Over time, the number of those who would is dwindling, and Draco has never quite belonged to that group. Now, Harry has become Neville's favorite confidant, and, as Draco puts it, Harry is too fucking nice to shut out Neville.

"Hi, Harry," says Neville, not giving Draco a second glance. Harry's not fond of the adoring way Neville's been looking at him, and he knows Draco feels similarly—perhaps to a greater degree. Regardless, Draco shoves a drink in Neville's hand and asks how he's holding up. Neville, still not paying any more attention to Draco than is necessary, launches into an explanation of how awful it's been, going to Diagon Alley without Luna and feeling everyone staring at him.

"You know that's not true, right?" Harry asks. "Everyone's involved enough in their own day-to-day that they'd never know you've broken up with your girlfriend and you're depressed about it."

"That's kind of a strong word for it, don't you think?"

Draco laughs. It's almost harsh sounding, but not quite. "Neville, you don't eat any more than is necessary to survive, you don't go to work, and you hardly talk to anyone who isn't Harry. Hell, you're having trouble looking at me right now, and I'm talking straight to you. If that's not depressed, I don't know what is."

Neville stares at Draco and, several long seconds later, nods. "I guess you're right."

"Hermione, have you got a quill?" Draco calls to Hermione. She nods and tosses him one along with a small inkpot.

"Do you need paper, too?" she asks.

"No, I'm good there." Draco reaches into his pocket and pulls out a square piece of parchment. Harry wonders how he's gotten so close to people who carry inkpots and stationery-style parchment around as Draco writes a name Harry recognizes, along with an address, in tight, neat script Harry's become quite familiar with.

"Hannah's the second in command of our department," Draco says, handing Neville the piece of parchment. "She's gone through a lot, she knows what having your heart broken feels like, and she's an extremely good listener. I believe the two of you would get along quite well."

Neville looks slightly dazed. "Right. Why the address?"

"You're going to firecall her tomorrow evening, and the two of you are going to have dinner together," Draco informs Neville. "I'll be getting in contact with her tonight. Now, shall we watch this match?"

Hours later, when the Cannons have squeaked by the Wasps for a 10-point victory and everyone's gone back to wherever it was they came from, Harry says to Draco, "That was really remarkably nice of you."

Draco's head is in Harry's lap, and the two of them are on the couch in Harry's flat, not paying much attention to whatever's on television. They seem to switch off, location-wise, and today's Harry's day to play host. "What was?" Draco asks, craning his neck to look up at Harry.

"What you did for Neville," says Harry, running his fingers through Draco's hair. "I wouldn't have thought to do something like that."

"Yes, you would've," Draco says, closing his eyes. "It just would've taken you longer, since you weren't as annoyed as I was."

"Still, I'm impressed."

"And easily so."

"Are you complaining about me liking something you did?" Harry leans down and taps Draco on the chin. "That means you should move closer to me so I can kiss you."

"Thanks for the direction." Draco obliges and they indulge in a bit of an upside down snogging session. Soon enough, Draco's flipped over and on top of Harry, and they're inching ever closer to whatever comes after what they've been doing so well for some weeks now. Harry slips his hands underneath Draco's shirt, tracing the curve of his spine with his fingertips, and Draco's mouth is on Harry's neck, going lower and lower until he's tugging impatiently at Harry's collar.

"This would be easier, you know," Draco says, panting slightly, "if we were wearing less."

"True." Harry pulls at the back of Draco's shirt; Draco straightens up for a moment to pull it over his head and encourages Harry to do the same by running his fingers along the hem of Harry's shirt. Harry does what's nonverbally asked of him, and they look at each other for a few long seconds.

"I hate that I put that there," Harry says, tracing the cluster of thin white lines on Draco's chest with his index finger.

"Don't do the guilt thing, Harry," says Draco. "Doesn't look good on you. Besides, scars are sexy. Where's this one from?" He runs his hand along Harry's right shoulder.

"Werewolf," Harry says. "In Dublin. I have a few from that particular trip."

"So rugged," says Draco, half teasing. "Quit staring, would you?"

"I'm sorry. It's not the scars. It's just ... your body. I don't think I'd ever get sick of looking at it. And it's scary, really."

"Why's that scary?"

"It's just ... you. You're, this, it's so far beyond anything I've had before."

Draco leans in and kisses Harry, hard and fast and deep. "You know I feel the same way," he says, sounding a bit throaty. "And you know I want to show you how I feel. Can I do that?"

"How exactly would you be doing that?"

Draco bends his head to nibble at Harry's collarbones; Harry attempts to hold back a whimper but gives up rather quickly as Draco all but devours the upper half of his chest before moving southward. "Well, I can think of a few ways," he nearly whispers. "But we could start with this." He reaches for the zip on Harry's denims. "That is, if you're open to that. Are you?"

Harry laughs weakly. "I can't—do you really even have to ask?"

Draco looks up and smiles before going to work, the kind of work Harry's been waiting for and wanting but putting off for weeks. He's sure now. They both are. And Draco couldn't look happier about it. "I suppose we don't need words for this part," he says, and Harry sighs and doesn't think another coherent thought for quite some time.


	14. Families

"We haven't seen you around much lately, Harry," says Molly, and he can sense something accusing in her tone, but he feels no guilt for it. It's true that it's the first time he's been at the Weasleys for more than an hour or two on a Sunday afternoon in a few months, but he's been otherwise occupied. He and Draco have just entered the fourth month of their relationship, and with that has come ... well, more than Harry realized was meant to happen at the four-month mark. He decides not to tell Molly that the next day—Sunday—he'll be not at the Burrow, but Malfoy Manor.

"I've been busy," Harry says. "You need some—"

She waves her hand dismissively. "You know I never need help with anything, Harry. Unless you'd be willing to start setting the table with salad bowls."

"Sure." As Harry reaches for the bowls, he listens to Molly asking him why he's been so busy.

"Well, you know the post holiday crime roundup's always a wrench," he says, spelling the bowls to their proper places. "And Kingsley's asked Ron and me to start up this inter-Ministry intramural Quidditch league, as Ron's probably mentioned to you."

"He did," she says with a nod. "Why aren't you out there playing with them, anyway?"

Harry looks out at the backyard, where Ron, George, Ginny, and Dean are playing a game of two a side. He shrugs. "Wanted to talk to you a bit."

She smiles warmly. "And are you and the Malfoy boy still...?"

Harry smiles at her insistence that Draco is still just "the Malfoy boy." "Yes, we're still."

"Think he'll propose soon, then?"

Harry, who's just taken a sip of water, promptly chokes on it.

"Well, it's a fair question, Harry," says Molly. "Dean proposed to Ginny after four weeks, and that was two days after asking Arthur's permission."

"Yeah, but Dean had wanted to be with Ginny since we were in school," Harry says. "Draco—it's not the same thing."

"If you say so. Would you go out and get the others? We're ready to eat."

Harry's unnerved for the rest of the night, even as Draco comes to his flat just so they can sleep beside each other before spending Sunday at the Manor—a sweet gesture, Harry thinks, romantic, even, considering they hadn't been together all day. Draco had a trial to sit in on that had already been rescheduled twice, so he and Hermione had both been tied up there, thus her absence at the Burrow. As morning breaks and he and Draco get dressed, Harry still can't shake Molly's question.

"Are you showering first, or did you want to go together?" Draco asks, curling Harry's hair around his ears and kissing his cheek. Harry was surprised to find that Draco is neither a morning person nor a night owl; rather, he's at the same level all day long, and that's a level that's fine by Harry.

"How much time do we have?"

Draco snorts. "You're not suggesting it takes quicker when we're together, are you? Because I can assure you, it almost certainly takes longer." His expression turns concerned. "Is something wrong? You seemed a little off last night, and it's still here now."

"Oh. Well." Harry hesitates. "It's weird, OK?"

"It's probably not."

"Molly Weasley asked me if I thought you'd be proposing soon."

Draco's face turns a whiter shade of pale, and he swallows before saying, "Well, I can understand why you've been a little off. What a terrifying question."

"Thank you!" says Harry, relieved. "It's not—I mean, marriage—well, you know, I care about you a lot, I love being with you, I'm never, ever, ever going to break up with you, ever—"

"Go on," Draco says, smiling.

"But it's been, what, three months? And we're not old or anything. We've got time to decide what we want to do about—if we want to do something—you know. Like. Commitment."

"I'm not sure I could've put it better myself," says Draco. "So, what'd you tell her?"

"There was some choking and a bit of stammering, mostly," Harry says sheepishly.

Draco laughs. "Of course, you've got a charming, choking, stammering, awkward, uncomfortable, totally endearing way about you."

"I'll let the endearing part cancel out the rest," says Harry. "Anyway, I don't think you want to marry some git who won't let you have sex with him after more than three months."

"Isn't that more incentive, actually?" Draco asks. "There's some Muggle phrase you used once when you told me that Ron and Hermione never did it till they were married. Something about cows and milk and free market."

"Nothing about the free market," Harry says. "It's that you don't want to buy the cow if you can get the milk for free, like, you don't want to get married if you're already getting laid."

"You'd think if you enjoyed the sex enough, the marriage would come naturally."

"You'd think." Harry pauses. "You know I'm almost ready, right?"

"I know, Harry."

"And you know I'm going to be awful, right? Just dreadful?"

"A possibility, but that's not 100% certain."

"And if it is, you'll absolutely never marry me?"

"Let's not talk about that anymore, hm?" Draco kisses Harry on the neck once, twice, and many more times before shooing him out of the bed and into the shower. Within an hour, the two of them are on the needlessly long path into the Manor.

"You didn't have to bring her anything," Draco says, gesturing to the fruit basket in Harry's hands.

"I know, but I want to look good," says Harry.

"She's still quite sweet on you for saving my life," Draco says.

Harry shrugs. "And now she'll know that I appreciate good food. There's cheese in here, you know."

Draco rolls his eyes. "I'm sure there is. Oh, look, it's Pansy and her new man. Cute, isn't he?"

"He's not the same one from a couple months ago, is he?" Harry examines Parkinson—Pansy, he supposes, Pansy's what he'll have to call her now—and the man on her arm. He looks vaguely Italian and can't seem to stop smiling or exclaiming over something or another, quite possibly the peacock making its way past him.

"Of course he isn't," Draco says. "Pansy doesn't do long term relationships. Granted, she would if Blaise asked her out, but that'll never happen." Draco moves toward Pansy and Harry follows.

"So we've finally lured your precious Harry Potter away from his Weasleys on a Sunday afternoon?" Pansy purrs, taking Draco in her arms and then pushing him away so Harry can have a turn. It's odd, being outright embraced by Pansy Parkinson, but he accepts it gratefully—it's impossible not to imagine how much worse this could already be. "Draco, Harry, this is Emile."

Emile air kisses Draco and Harry before turning to Pansy and asking her, in broken English, how soon lunch will be. "Soon, darling, soon," she says. "Right, Draco?"

Draco nods. "Mother always has lunch ready at 12:15 pm." He pauses. "Well, the house elves always have lunch ready then, anyway."

It's not as horrifying as anything Harry was imagining. He's sat between Draco and Theo after Narcissa warmly accepts his gift and tells him how happy it makes her to see her son so content. In many ways, the lunch is just like a meal at the Burrow. Small conversations break out among groups of twos and threes, food keeps seeming to reappear as soon as the supply wears thin, and every once in a while, everybody seems to be laughing at some comment or another. The fact that they're in the most pristine dining room Harry's seen this side of the Ministry seems irrelevant somehow.

As the crowd disperses to play games of Exploding Snap or (oddly, Harry thinks, considering the Muggle nature of it) croquet, Narcissa takes Harry aside.

"I realize your relationship is fairly young," she says to him. "But I want you to know that whatever you and Draco decide to do—live together, marry, adopt, whatever—I will support your decision."

Harry fights back all manner of nervous tics and nods, but he can't help asking, "Why—how—when did you become this relaxed?"

Narcissa laughs softly. "Sometime between my husband telling me how much of a waste pureblood-based ambition was and my son telling me that no more natural Malfoy heirs would be coming into existence at any time. In life, I find, you must accept what you've been presented and move with it." She cocks her head to the side and looks thoughtful before adding, "Draco finds the idea of marriage horrifying, too. I understand. You're young and male and you probably don't grasp its appeal just yet. Don't worry. You have time. Judging from how he treats you, my son will give you as much of that as you need."

Harry doesn't tell Draco the contents of this conversation as the two of them bid goodbye to the Manor crowd and go to Draco's flat for an afternoon and evening in with Chinese takeout and a loud, nonsensical Muggle film. At least, at first, he doesn't.

"Another marriage talk, then?" Draco sighs dramatically. "How will you ever escape them? And how come everyone's asking _you _about it? Are you the man, then?"

"I'm fairly sure we both are," says Harry. "And ... it's nice to know, at least, if I do, you know, decide it's not the scariest thing ever at some point somewhere down the line. You know, like, five years down the line."

"Or ten," Draco says.

"Exactly," says Harry. "Well, I think I've kept you waiting long enough, haven't I?"

"Huh?"

Harry laughs. "So inelegant. Look, Draco, if the respective motherly figures in our lives are wondering why we aren't exchanging rings and vows in front of a crowd of our closest friends and relatives, then isn't it time we, you know, fucked?"

"Well, I certainly think so, yes," says Draco, trying to bite back laughter and failing. "Are you suggesting you're ready because Molly Weasley and my mother put fear of losing me in your heart?"

"No, I'm suggesting I'm ready because I've been saying I would be for over four months and I can't think of what more it would take than Peking duck and Bruce Willis."

"Who's Bruce Willis?"

Harry gestures at the screen and rolls his eyes. "Honestly, do you ever listen to me when I tell you about what we're watching?"

"Mostly I'm just staring at your mouth."

"That's fair." Harry stands up and holds out his hand to Draco. "I'm ready when you are."

"Well, suppose we'll see about that, then," says Draco, taking Harry's hand and following him to Draco's bedroom. "It's probably worth mentioning before we do this that I love you, and I have for a long time, since before this was anything official, and this is going to be the best damn sex you ever have, if for that reason alone."

Harry stops and turns to Draco and kisses him with all he has.

"So, good news there, then?" Draco's smirking.

"I love you, too," says Harry. "I've loved you just as long. And I'm not as articulate as you are, so I'm just going to show you how much I love you by pounding you into the mattress."

"Not if I pound you first."

"You're on."


	15. Illness

"If you were intending to propose," says Draco, "there are subtler ways to go about it."

Harry laughs. "Believe me, bringing you to jewelry shops and looking for rings is not the tack I'd take. We're on special assignment, remember?"

"Yes. And what a coy special assignment it is." It's May now, and Harry and Draco have been assigned by Molly Weasley to help pick out a ring for her and Arthur's vow renewal. At first, Harry was confused by this concept. He knew it happened in the Muggle world, but among wizards—that seemed odd somehow. Draco and the Weasleys assured him it was a pureblood tradition. None of them clarified which anniversary it should happen, and Harry thought it best not to question.

"I've never been to Nature Alley before," says Harry, looking from shop to shop. "It's nice."

Draco shrugs. "It's fine. I had to go here a few times back when I was still considering asking a woman to marry me. The shopkeeps are pretty pushy. Watch out for that."

Harry bristles at the thought that Draco really did consider that possibility not so long ago, but he relaxes when Draco intertwines their fingers. "You know it's the furthest thing from my mind now," Draco reassures him. "Though your defensiveness is endearing." They exchange a smile and walk into a shop where a too-cheery witch begins explaining the wonder of self-sizing rings.

"We're not looking for ourselves," says Harry quickly. "Just helping a friend."

"Oh, that's too bad, dear," she says. "You two are a lovely couple. You both look rather familiar, actually."

"We get that a lot," Draco says smoothly. "We just have those kind of faces."

The witch nods. "Right. Well. What exactly is it that you're looking for?"

"Vow renewal rings for a pureblood couple," says Harry, and the witch enthusiastically bustles around as she explains to them which colors represent which sorts of relationships, and what's better for a man as opposed to a woman. It's not long before Harry and Draco have narrowed down their choices to just a handful, and Harry wonders how comfortable Molly would be with him settling on just one. At the same time, an engagement ring catches his eye. It's simple, just a smoky quartz, according to its label, on a plain silver band with a bit of an inlaid pattern. The quartz matches Draco's eye color to a T, and Harry holds himself back from trying on the ring.

Draco takes out a camera, and Harry's reminded that his boyfriend always seems to think of everything. He gets a picture or two of each rings, thanks the witch, and reaches for Harry's hand.

"You saw something, then?" he says to Harry under his breath. Harry feels his face redden and nods.

"It's alright," says Draco. "I saw something, too." And without another word about it, they head two doors over to a smallish restaurant that's serving sandwiches and salads and all manner of sugary desserts. They're in the midst of lunch when a silvery peacock approaches them. It's a stark reminder that they're in the magical world when no one around them even acknowledges the presence of a Patronus.

"That's worrying," Draco says, narrowing his eyes. "Wonder what she has to tell me."

The Patronus begins speaking then, not in his mother's voice, but in unfamiliar, clipped tones.

"Mr. Malfoy, your mother has taken ill," it says. "She is now in St. Mungo's hospital with what looks to be a variation on a disease the Muggles call meningitis. It can be cured, but not easily. She will be in the hospital for a minimum of three weeks. It is highly recommended that you come to St. Mungo's as soon as possible to help determine the next course of action."

Draco's gone paler than usual. Harry reaches over to cover Draco's hand with his and Draco draws back immediately.

"Can you take the check?" he asks. "I need to go right away."

"Sure," says Harry. "Are you sure you don't want me to go along?"

Draco shakes his head with a kind of firmness Harry rarely sees and speaks in a tone to match. "No. I think it's best if we're apart during this. I wouldn't want to bother you with my mother's illness. You can take the camera and get the pictures for Molly and Arthur."

"It wouldn't be a bother, Draco," Harry says, trying not to be offended by Draco's phrasing.

"You say that now," says Draco. "But she's not your mother, Harry. You won't have the patience for the hours I'll have to stay in the hospital now, missing work and making sure she's recovering smoothly. You're not an overly patient person by nature, nor am I, and I don't think you'd encourage me in that direction."

Harry's blood is boiling and he tries his best to disregard it as Draco stands, steps around the table, and kisses Harry, hard and fast and desperate feeling. "I'm sorry. Really, I am. And I know you're mad. You're crap at hiding it. How quickly do you think you won't be?"

"How long's your mother supposed to be there?"

"Three weeks or longer, they said."

Harry pauses before saying, "I think that'll be long enough for me to cool down."

Draco nods as though this is perfectly fair, and through his anger, Harry acknowledges that no one else gets him quite like this. "I'm sure I'll go back into work eventually. Maybe you'll be calm enough by then to say hello. I love you, alright? Remember that. Please. And just ... forget about me for the time being. Go out with our friends. Keep yourself busy. Be without a boyfriend for however long."

Harry nods and resists the urge to kiss him again. Draco doesn't.

"I love you, too," he says after Draco's broken off. "I just happen to hate you a bit right now. And I'm sorry about your mother."

Draco nods and Disapparates and Harry feels more alone than he has since the fall.


	16. Reunion

"Have you seen her, then?" Hermione asks.

Harry shakes his head. The two of them are at a park, walking the puppy Harry's recently acquired in Draco's hopefully brief absence. It's a gangly Dalmatian he named Alvin but calls Al. "Draco didn't seem to want me to when he left. I can't believe I'm still angry at him. It's been over a week."

"It's understandable, really," says Hermione, putting a hand on her belly. She'd been pregnant for three months and it was a new habit she'd taken up. "If Molly got sick and Ron didn't want me around, I'd be furious."

"But you know Molly well," Harry says. "I hardly know Narcissa. In an odd way, it makes sense. But it doesn't make me less mad that he didn't want me around, if not for her, then for him."

"He's always been stubborn, Harry. This is just the rougher side of that."

"I suppose we'd been flawless for too long," says Harry, leaning down to scratch Al's back. Al gives a happy bark and immediately flops down to be pet. Harry complies, and Hermione crouches down to do the same.

"The dog was a good idea," Hermione says. "I hope he's been a distraction."

"You could say that. He was a nightmare to train."

"Don't remind me of what a baby will be like." Hermione mock shudders and Harry smiles.

"You'll be brilliant and you know it."

"I think you should visit her," says Hermione. "I don't think he'd mind. I really don't. I think you should go now, actually. I'll take Al back to yours."

"You sure?" asks Harry. "Obviously, I've been waiting for someone to tell me to go for over a week now. Two weeks, right?"

Hermione nods.

"And I don't see ... if this makes him angry, then I think we'll need to have a talk."

He and Hermione stand, and he hands Hermione Al's leash. She pulls him into a hug.

"It'll be alright," she says. "No talks needed. I'm sure."

"I hope you always being right continues to hold true," says Harry as he hugs her back before Disapparating. He's out in front of St. Mungo's in seconds, scared and hopeful in equal measure. It's a minute or two more before he's riding the elevator up to the level where modified Muggle diseases are treated.

He sees Draco as soon as he steps out of the elevator. His boyfriend, never not gorgeous, looks borderline terrible, dark circles under his eyes, hair askew and clothes rumpled. It's endearing, really, and Harry wonders when it was he fell this hard. Months ago, probably. Draco's standing in front of a table littered with empty cups and sugar packets, a single coffeepot sat on the very corner. It's as though he's seriously considering a cup but can't quite manage reaching over. Harry steps forward and does it for him, filling a cup and holding it out to Draco. Draco looks up and his tired eyes widen.

"Drink it," says Harry with a shaky smile. "Looks like you need it."

Draco looks from Harry's face to the cup and back again. "Put it down, Potter," he nearly growls. Harry complies, and Draco puts his arms around Harry, clinging in a way that feels desperate and so very welcome. Harry's anger dissipates and he acknowledges that all Draco needed was to feel strong on his own—something no one can really do, Harry thinks. Really, the way he's still here for his mother is brave, and it is strong. But everyone needs someone. And sometimes, if not always, they need each other.

"If you couldn't tell," Harry says into Draco's shoulder, enjoying, for perhaps the hundredth time, Draco's slightly taller height, "this is me forgiving you for your Batman-like faux heroism."

"Who's Batman?" Draco asks, sounding confused and holding ever tighter.

"We'll be reading some comics later," Harry promises. "You need a break from here. I think we should go and say hello to your mother and see how she's doing, and then we're going back to my place. You're meeting my new dog before you let me kiss you and then some, and then you're going back to work on Monday. It's what your mother would want and you know that." Harry pulls back slightly and examines Draco. "Also, you're eating something. You're always thin, and it's usually lovely, but not so much right now."

Draco nods, though he looks uncertain. "You really think I should leave?"

"Let's go see your mother. I do. And I think she'll agree." Seeing no need to let go completely, he leaves one arm around Draco as they walk down the hallway toward Narcissa's room. Once inside, Harry notices that, while Narcissa looks worn out, she also appears to be on the mend. There's color in her cheeks and the spotted skin associated with this strain of meningitis has all but faded. She's also asleep.

"I don't want to wake her," whispers Draco.

"Neither do I," Harry whispers. "Leave a note?"

"Don't worry about it," a third voice whispers. Harry looks over his shoulder at the Healer walking into the room. She smiles warmly. "I'll let Mrs. Malfoy know her son got kidnapped by Harry Potter."

Draco looks uncertain. Harry thanks the Healer and tugs on Draco's hand with his.

"It'll be alright, Draco," says Harry. "Really. And don't you want to meet Al?"

"You named your dog Al?" Draco nods at the Healer as he and Harry exit the room.

"Well, Alvin. It means 'friend' in some language or another, and I needed one."

"I didn't apologize, did I?" Draco leans over and swiftly kisses Harry on the cheek. Harry attempts to ignore the trio of female Healers who look quite giddy over seeing this happen. "I am sorry. I just ... I've never been close to someone this way when something horrible's happened, and I didn't want you to have to deal with it." They walk into the elevator together.

"Draco," Harry says, hesitating. "Well, first, it's OK. I mean, I was pissed, sure, but not anymore. Not for a little bit now. The thing is, part of a relationship is getting through the shit parts together."

"I've never really had to do that. Or gotten to, I suppose. Never had someone else to help shoulder the burden or what have you."

"I hope you'll let me now," says Harry.

Draco tightens his grip on Harry's hand. "I was going to come get you, you know. Not today, but soon. I ... It's weird, but I need you."

"Is that weird, then? Needing someone?" They step out of the elevator and head toward the door, where they nearly trip over Dean Thomas.

"Hi, Harry. Malfoy." Dean nods at the two of them.

"Feeling alright, Dean?" Harry asks.

"Oh, I'm not here for me," he says. "I'm here for Seamus. Broke his ankle in the most embarrassing way possible."

"What way's that?"

"Tripping jinx." Dean shakes his head. "I suppose anything that pulls me away from wedding planning's worthwhile, so I told him I'd stop by while they're still fixing him up."

"July's not so far away, is it? Sowing your wild oats, I take it?"

Dean laughs. "Yeah, haven't had much chance for it. I don't think Ginny cherishes the open relationship idea quite as much as I do. You two are coming to the wedding, then?"

"Course I am," says Harry. "And I'm sure I'll be able to persuade Draco to be there with me."

Draco smiles slightly and nods. "We should go."

"Right. Nice seeing you, Dean."

"You too."

Harry and Draco step out of the hospital and onto the sidewalk. Harry loops his arm around Draco's waist and Apparates the two of them into his flat. Al lopes over to the two of them and licks Harry's hand.

"This is Alvin, but you can call him Al," says Harry. "Al, this is Draco. Get used to his gorgeous face. You'll be seeing a lot of it."

Draco reaches forward and awkwardly pats Al on the head. Al nuzzles his head into Draco's palm.

"He likes you," Harry says. "But, unfortunately for him, so do I. Can we please go to my bedroom?"

"Can't think of anything else I'd like more," says Draco with a grin. "Oh, one thing. Thomas and Ginny have an open relationship?"

"You didn't think it was weird that she occasionally messed about with Blaise and he left the first Gryffindor-heavy party you went to with another girl?"

Draco cocks his head to the side and seems to consider the situation. "Well. Guess that makes slightly more sense, then."

"Don't get any ideas," says Harry. "I'm keeping you to myself."

"I'd never suggest it," Draco says solemnly. "Now, I believe you mentioned something about your bedroom?"

"I believe I did," says Harry, taking Draco in his arms and kissing him, hard and fast and wonderful, before pulling him toward their destination.


	17. Bonded

"Remind me again why we're doing this."

Harry laughs. It's a stormy Saturday in August, and leaving the flat seems out of the question, so it only makes sense to be doing what they're doing—that is, if that ever made sense in the first place, and Harry isn't completely sure it had.

"Well," he says as he signs Dean and Ginny's names across the bottom of a thank you card with a flourish, "Ginny claims I broke her heart at least twice, and your father nearly killed her over the course of a very long school year. So I guess having us write their wedding cards for them is nearly fair."

Draco shakes his head and seals an envelope with the wax he'd insisted Dean and Ginny start using, starting with the seemingly endless stack of thank you notes. He stands and stretches, Harry's oldest, most threadbare jeans slipping down and revealing a bit of stomach and boxers. Lowering his arms, he tugs at the hem of Harry's shirt from the Quidditch World Cup three years back. Why he's wearing Harry's clothes today is no mystery; though he's nearly living with Harry of late, all his things haven't made their move from his flat to Harry's. He'd casually mentioned a week ago that he was letting his lease run out and more of his possessions would be on their way over time. Draco moving in with Harry was never up for discussion, and Harry expected no more than that.

"Those jeans are too loose and too short," Harry observes, following Draco's lead and standing. He steps toward Draco and tugs at his belt loops, pulling him closer.

"Sounds like you want me to take them off," says Draco in a low voice, playing with Harry's belt buckle.

"You know we should work on this for a while first," Harry says, sorely tempted to do what Draco's suggesting. "The sooner it's done, the sooner we shag."

Draco sighs dramatically, brushes his lips against Harry's, and gently removes Harry's fingers from his belt loops. "I'm going to make some tea," he says. "I think we're going to need it."

They've been at the task for 15 minutes more when Draco muses, "Can you imagine doing this for ourselves?"

Ever since watching Dean and Ginny exchange vows in a very Muggle ceremony, Harry's had heart palpitations whenever marriage comes up in conversation. This moment is no different. "Hardly," he says, trying to sound casual. "But thank you notes aren't really a wizarding thing, are they?"

"No," says Draco. "An invitation to the wedding is thanks enough on its own, in the eyes of tradition." He pauses and adds, "Not an eloping thing, either, thank you notes."

"So the idea of eloping appeals to you, then?"

Draco shrugs. "When I think about it..." He looks up at Harry's dumbfounded expression and laughs. "Yes, of course I think about it. Can't watch Ginny marry Dean and not have the thoughts cross my mind a bit more than usual, now, can I? Anyway, when I think about it, I think of both."

"Both?"

"Have the wizarding trappings and the like for my mother's sake, for the Weasleys' sake, even, since they are practically your parents." Draco signs another note and seals it up. "But first, stealing away to Kingsley's office and having him marry us and just being together and bonded and all that formal crap."

Harry can't keep the smile off his face as he tries to think of a clever way to thank Aunt Muriel for the set of self-sharpening knives. "Is that something you want, then?"

Draco looks across the table, meeting Harry's eye. "Yes," he says softly. "It is something I want."

"Well, thank God, then," Harry says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a velvet box. "I've been carrying this around for weeks. Do you want me to do the whole down on one knee bit, or can we just go to the bedroom and I give you that ring we saw in May?"

Harry's never seen Draco cry, but there's a first time for everything. At the very least, his boyfriend and just about fiancé's eyes are shining when he holds Harry's gaze and says, "I'd be fine with the latter."

The two of them walk upstairs, having difficulty keeping their hands and lips off each other as they go. They enter Harry's room—theirs, really, Harry thinks—and sit down on the bed, Harry brushing some stray hairs out of Draco's forehead to get a good look at his eyes.

"Draco Malfoy, would you like to marry me in a ceremony with no one else, then allow your mother to spend all the money she so desires on a ridiculously huge wedding?" Harry asks.

"There's nothing I'd like more, Harry Potter," Draco says, laughing. Harry joins in as he slides the ring Draco spotted months before onto a slim, pale finger attached to a man he's grown to love so deeply he can't even fathom it sometimes. He hands Draco the box and Draco gives Harry his ring, putting it on Harry's hand.

"I love your callouses," says Draco, tracing one with his newly ringed finger.

"I love how easily I can tell you use hand lotion," says Harry.

"I love you, actually."

"I love you too."

"But I'll be honest with you now." Draco wraps his arms around Harry's neck and looks at him with heavily lidded eyes, those same silver grey eyes that never stop captivating Harry. Harry puts his arms around Draco's waist. "If we don't consummate this engagement within a minute or two, I might have to call it off."

"That seems fair," Harry says seriously, and they lie down together, gentle and deliberate in their actions, so full of intense yet oh so quiet passion and the kind of emotion some couples, Harry thinks as Draco draws back but not far enough to quit holding him, might never get to experience. And he feels for them, but not enough to ignore the swelling of gratefulness and the pure, unadulterated joy that follows sincere words and great sex.

"You're thinking about me, aren't you?" Draco asks, that lovely smirk on his face.

"Of course," says Harry. "Astute observation on your part. Actually, it was more ... I was thinking about us. How ridiculously perfect this is. We argue and we resolve and we resent and we love and it's just ... it just is."

"Well put," says Draco, running a hand over Harry's ribs. "When do you want to do the marriage thing?"

"Next weekend, maybe?"

"If we did it Friday afternoon, we could have a mini-honeymoon over the weekend, go somewhere quiet and beautiful."

"That's good thinking. There are many reasons I keep you around, and your mind is one of them. Your sexy, sexy mind."

"You think everything I do is sexy," says Draco.

"Is that so wrong?" Harry leans in for a kiss, and it's lingering and soft and wonderful.

"Not at all. Nothing about this is. Nothing ever has been. And that's the most maudlin thing you'll ever hear me say."

"I doubt that somehow," Harry says. "Now that we're having our whole lives together, that is. But I can handle it. I can handle all of it."

"I know," Draco says quietly. "It's why I stay. You're for all of me. And I'm for all of you."

"We need to take a nap before this sentimentality gets out of hand," says Harry, curling his arms around Draco.

"I think it already has," Draco says, locking their legs together.

"I'm not going to complain," says Harry. "If I ever do, just remind me of this, OK? Because it's perfection. Really."

"Only if you'll do the same for me."

"Always," Harry promises, and they curl up together and dream for then, forever, and for always.

And how sentimental is that? It's a good thing they're not keeping track anymore, Harry thinks as Draco nuzzles into his neck and he marvels one more time at what perfection looks like.


End file.
